Unwelcome Discovery
by V-rcingetorix
Summary: Humanity discovered the Ruins over Forty years earlier than they should have. After the First Contact War, they have earned the respect of the galaxy and are respected as equals. But Shepard, survivor of Mindoir, stumbles onto a secret spanning through the millenia, and now the Powers want to control his discovery. Alternate Universe, see Early Discovery for the Backstory.
1. Prologue

_The story of Mindoir is an exercise in what could be called a 'whiplash reality.' Once the victim of a batarian slave-raid, it is now a thriving center of industrial production. Technology design is a small but growing portion of its economy, spurred by the ready supply of resources and a competitive education center._

 _The re-settlement of the colony was undertaken with a shrewd eye towards progress. Salarian analysts were hired in the design, and asari were consulted for long-range permanency._

 _As the location might suggest, there are few Alliance supply depots near Mindoir. By investing initially within mass-production facilities, the colony was able to create a self-sufficient economy within two years of the Raid. One year after that, it was seeking workers. Two years after that, it had a booming economy, attracting settlers by the shipload._

 _Mindoir is a perfect example of recovery; how a turnaround is possible for everyone. Unfortunately, to have that steep climb, there must first be a fall. It is somewhat analogous of Commander Shepard, to make such a leap to prominence after diving so low._

 _Yet, everything has a beginning. To assume otherwise begs erroneous reasoning._

 _Notes from Dr. Pavenmeyer's logs_

 _~Project Ragnarök Files_

* * *

Present: Arcturus Alliance Recruitment Center, Psychology Wing

"Mr. Shepard," the bearded man studied him carefully. "I have been asked to evaluate your suitability for serving in the Alliance military." He looked down at a transparent sheet of plastic. "While I am often called upon for my expertise, it isn't often I'm asked to determine ... sanity levels."

Karl sat on the requisite couch, maintaining the cool smile he wore. _Frowns are noticeable, smiles are not._ _Not until they stay in place for extended periods of time, of course. Intriguing._ _Psychological warfare with the twitch of a few muscles._ " Sanity is a relative term, Professor Duerf. My understanding of 'normal,' is possibly not matching the commonly understood ideal. Who can truly define 'normal'?"

The professor lowered his glasses, staring down the formidable nose at Karl. _As an intimidation tactic, not bad,_ Karl thought, before pulling his attention back.

"True, how Socratic." The professor replaced his glasses, settling back in his chair. "Now, how about we begin with the obvious. Mindoir. What did you do before that night?"

* * *

Flashback: Mindoir

July 4, 2170

2:00 AM

He was seventeen.

The thought rolled through his mind, he mentally probed into as many aspects of the uncertain concept as possible. He was parsing the thought; considering the full ramifications of the idea carefully. It was just something he had to do. Although it was technically only a few minutes later than sixteen years, three hundred and sixty-four point two-five days … he considered the information, then added to it. Old Earth calendar, anyway. He shifted, making the mattress squeak slightly _. Doesn't feel very different, physically. Mentally … big difference, but is it actually the sensation of getting older? Or just the realization of being officially older?_

The light from Mindoir's twin-planet neighbors, shimmering through his bedroom window, caught his eye for a moment, glinting a silvery-blue off his greatest accomplishment to date: the _ufberht_. At one point in time, it had been among the greatest weapons known to combat technology. The knowledge to create it had likely taken its original craftsman a lifetime to accumulate, and then taken years to teach. The steel forming the blade had been more flexible than contemporary craftsmanship, almost equal to modern quality, especially when compared to the slag-ridden metal chunks of its day. In keeping with the ancient practice, Karl had spent the better part of three days combining the metal and coal, melting the precise quantities of sulfur, iron, and sand in the primitive crucible.

He let his gaze caress the object, a short, vicious looking blade that waited in its leather sheath on the door. The blade was too heavy to be blown by the slight breeze in the room; its deadly purpose evident from the patient way it hung, motionless. Karl let one side of his mouth curl upwards. Pride in his accomplishment eased the ache in his tired arms.

Other apprentices had created their own masterpieces using the flash-forge, writing complex programs to create marvels of modern industry. Their contributions netted them approval, and gave useful items to the community … _but that wasn't the path for me. No, I had to take the slowest, most boneheaded method I could think of,_ Karl thought. Even to himself, he had to admit the project had been daunting. _Take an obsolete method, an archaic weapon, and a basic knowledge of chemistry_. _And turn it into what a true Saxon would have considered a peerless weapon. I must have been crazy! Not to mention all the time required finding the resources,on my own time, submitting approval forms to engage in "archaic methods," and finding proper wood to turn into coal._ Karl shivered. That last part alone was a mammoth headache _. Who knew oak was so unique?_

But remembering the pleased look on both his father's face and the face of Sven, the master smith, made the entire enterprise worth it. The diploma hanging next to the _ufberht_ was another happy result of all his work. He didn't need to read it again to know what it said. He bypassed Journeyman status completely in a year, he had the promise of a full partnership when he turned eighteen, and to top it off, he received a commendation for demonstrating dedication above and beyond an apprentice's normal penchant … Life was good.

A few pebbles flew through the open window by his bed, clinking off a decorative dagger sitting on the dresser. Karl grinned. _Perhaps life can get even better_. He quickly waved a hand past the window, then sat up. He stretched an arm, grabbing a work shirt, pulling it on before rising to his feet. He toed on a pair of moccasins, souvenirs from his brother's hunting trip a few months earlier. Perhaps humans on Earth would frown on such things as hunting, but out in the colonies, responsible resource management wasn't limited to the leaders; common citizens had to do their part as well.

Karl reached under his bed for a package, tucking it close to his chest. A quick twist, and he was through the window without touching the sides, gently landing the two-story drop with barely a sound, rolling to one side. He could see her just through the pair of shrubs planted between their homes, bouncing on her heels eagerly. Karl noticed the glint on her hand, the promise ring matching the band on his own. He waved at her, letting the light glint off the crystal-set ring, yet mindful of the heavy package he carried under one arm. He glanced around, scanning for potential observers, but saw nothing, only the darkened windows of much more distant neighbors.

Putting his head down, he loped in long, easy strides to the property border. The weighty, cloth-covered package under his arm felt almost as if it were warning him to be more cautious. _Easy Shepard, no need to grant anthropomorphic qualities to the goods._ He shook off the thought, stopping in front of Lily, nodding a greeting.

"About time," The woman said with a saucy smirk. "I was wondering if you'd maybe given up on the deal."

"And keep a lovely lady waiting? Perish the thought!" Shepard gave her a mock bow, then held out the item he'd been carrying. "As per your request, one anniversary plate, fit for royalty."

Soft fabric rustled as she stripped the covering free. A moment later, she gasped, loud enough to awaken her parents he was certain. "Karl, it's … beautiful!"

Shepard smiled shyly. "Glad you like it. I trust it is to your satisfaction?"

Small hands rubbed the ornate platter, gently touching the engraved edges with a care that bordered on reverence. She flipped the piece onto its top, examining the polished surface. One finger tested it lightly, gliding over its satin-like surface. "How did you … it's like you pulled it from my mind! This … it's incredible!" The cloth wrapping surrounded its charge once again, and Shepard suddenly found himself being held by an affectionate female. "I love it!"

"Uh," Shepard managed to tentatively close an arm behind her back. Feeling her proximity, even if he knew her so well, gave him a strange feeling. It led to thoughts he was beginning to appreciate, but was not fully accustomed to, yet _. Um … wow. Soft …_ he caught himself relaxing into the gesture, and immediately pulled back slightly. _She's your fiancée ... in everything that matters. Get a grip!_

"Um," he tentatively rubbed her back with one hand, helplessly holding the other at a stiff angle, "Shouldn't you get it inside, before your parents spoil the surprise?"

Lily stiffened, then pulled back in a rush. "Oh-I-completely-forgot—" she seized the heavy platter, then paused, looking at Karl measuringly. She leaned forwards, close to his face. _Too close, far too close, this is out in public remember last time_ — Shepard started pulling back when something simultaneously ice-cold and burning hot touched his lips. Lily reared back, blushing furiously and bolted away, footsteps fading quickly in the thick grass.

Shepard stared after her bemusedly. He saw a rectangle of yellow light flash against the paved section behind the house, and darken once more. There was a glint behind one of the windows as something reflective was uncovered. Other than that, however, the night remained silent. _Did she just?_ One hand reached up, touching the tingling skin. _That girl … if she doesn't drive me crazy…_ he came to his senses. _Foolish boy, you are standing in the open, staring at your fiancée's house, in your nightclothes. Get moving before you get into trouble._

He jogged back to his house, lighter in weight but deeper in thought. One jump, and a little scrambling saw him back in his room, visually no different than it had been less than fifteen minutes before. Shepard eased off his moccasins, and peeled off the shirt before lying down again. _What a night,_ he ruminated. He took a deep breath, held it for a count of five heartbeats, and then exhaled slowly for another count of four. Repeating the exercise, he was somehow able to marshal his thoughts into a more ordered form, and then he fell asleep.

Present: Arcturus Alliance Recruitment Center, Psychology Wing

"Nothing much out of the ordinary." Karl allowed the ever-present smile on his face to fade. "It was one of the last times I can remember being truly, well, normal," he tapped the side of his head meaningfully. "Not exactly too many happy memories after that night, you understand?"

"The attack, yes." Karl watched the professor tap the datapad, sorting through multiple files. "The medical testing you went through indicated cerebral trauma that occurred sometime during the attack. Can you tell me what happened?"

"I could," Karl shrugged, "but it's something that has already happened to a lot people. I had wires shoved in my head," he tapped the temple where faint scars could be seen, "typical batarian slaver technique, and I got away. How I got away is due only to the courage of my sister, and an individual that asked me to stay quiet."

The professor arched one eyebrow, as if hurt by the insinuation. "I have sworn the Hippocratic Oath, despite my lack of ... medical training. I am also legally and morally bound to keep all confidences between my patients and myself to myself; telling anything would get me fired faster than you could say Jack Robinson." He grimaced, evidentially disgruntled at the thought. "Above that, it would utterly ruin my career. No one wants a blabbermouth psychiatrist."

"Hmm." Karl leaned back into the couch, taking care to hide the racing thoughts behind a careless façade. "I did a little reading … just to know what I should expect you understand. Normally, your word would be enough. However, I also have to consider the fact that you are a personal advocate for the Alliance." _Good, concern is aired. Dilute with a compliment._ "You are loyal to the Alliance, a beneficial trait to my way of thinking. If anything I say could be considered of value to the Alliance military, that loyalty would obligate you to betray our trust." _Follow up with tidbit._ Karl looked pensive for a moment. "I can tell you I made my decision to join up long after I came to terms with what happened. I suffered," he looked up again, into the professors kind brown eyes, "but many people have suffered. Four people survived Mindoir, and some of those that were taken are probably still suffering. Yes, what happened to me was bad," _Display sorrow, but not too much_ , "but in balance, it's nothing compared to what has happened to others."

The professor seemed to intensify his gaze. He wasn't as subtle as Karl would have expected, carefully watching for any sign of deception. Karl kept his own gaze focused on the professor's, unwavering. _Game of visual chicken, he who looks away first is lying._ Finally, the professor nodded, turning back to his device. "Very well, how about you tell me your thoughts of the tactical situation?"

"You might have to clarify that question, sir." Karl tilted his head sideways, memorizing the psychologist's body language. _Can't let them know everything, it's personal anyway. Can't avenge them if I can't fight, can't fight if I can't join up. Use your head, Shepard. Stay ahead of them, every step of the way._

The professor smiled, as if conceding a minor victory to Karl. Karl felt a little pride. _He's a smart man, which doubles the difficulty, but halves the time. Self-persuasion is so much easier with an intelligent mind behind it._ He re-focused to hear the professor say: "How did the Batarians get so far, so quickly? Mindoir was a colony filled with military veterans, all of them trained in the art of war. The GARDIAN towers alone would make for difficulties, let alone slavers." The last word seemed to burn Karl's ears like an acid, cloying yet toxic.

Karl leaned forwards, losing expression. "Hindsight is 20/20, sir. Mindoir was protected against almost any attack." His eyebrows rose meaningfully. "Note that qualifier, almost." _Set up a distraction, allow a flanking maneuver; redirect._

Dr. Duerf's body posture became more attentive to his statement. "Indeed. How so?"

 _Gotcha._ The temperature fell as Karl's eyes turned cold. Gone, was the friendly, amiable look he'd worn entering the room. In its place crouched a predator, impartial, uncaring. "The Na'Hesit are known to be some of the most depraved, fanatical terrorists in the galaxy." One eyebrow rose. "It is also interesting to note that the group is disavowed by the Hegemony government ... yet is armed with weaponry typically found solely within elite Hegemony military."

The professor tapped a quick notation. "An astute observation. I assume you did research?"

"First hand." Karl bared his teeth. "Found a Graal Spike-thrower on one of the slavers, custom designed for non-krogan wielders. Its owner received a personal testament as to its effectiveness." His grin changed into curled in disdain. "It's a messy, inelegant weapon really. I much prefer my pistols, or a rifle."

Duerf cleared his throat, looking somewhat intrigued. "I myself prefer long guns, but you were saying ...?"

"Ah, yes. The Na'Hesit." Karl rolled his neck, letting it pop in multiple locations. "They sent in a human slave, completely brainwashed. Probably from one of their retaliation raids about three years ago. She shut down part of the sensor grid, letting a small shuttle approach from the far side of the planet. That shuttle had saboteurs, whom took over one of the GARDIAN towers, number Seven I think the guys said." Karl's voice dropped lower, carrying faint undertones difficult to ascertain. "The GARDIAN tower damaged our _Forge_ station in low orbit, and that meant our space defense was compromised. No station defenses, no protection from aerial assault. We were bombarded ... half the town razed in ten minutes."

The professor grunted, a harsh noise, given what Karl had heard so far. "I read about that. The report also said the stone structure survived ...?"

"The Knights of St. John building, yes." The edges of Karl's lips moved upwards again, a cold form of glee. "Turns out seventeenth century technology is better than we thought."

"How so?" Duerf raised an eyebrow.

"The bunker the Knights built was designed along the same lines as the castle they built on Malta, under Reichsfurst Valleta. Rounded corners, thick walls. Truly medieval, except for the absorbent panels built into the framework." Karl shrugged. "I don't know all the physics behind it, but apparently cannons packed a bigger mass back then; modern shells are denser, but significantly smaller. Modern small-arms fire can't make a dent, except for the explosive rounds, and the GARDIAN towers were working just fine out there. Apparently, the Order did its own maintenance, kept the towers off the network, and that kept the ship-based attacks to a minimum."

"Mmm, logical," Duerf murmured. "So how did they breech the building?"

Karl shrugged. "Not sure, the batarian I interrogated didn't know, and there was only a shattered wall for evidence by the time I got there. What I do know, is that there were dead batarians all around the wall." He took a breath, fixing the psychiatrist with a gimlet stare. "All with blunt-force trauma wounds."

"The monks blew up their own wall?" Duerf asked, apparently surprised. "Just to kill some batarians?"

"No. Not exactly blunt force, but close enough. Stab wounds. Helmets caved in, with spike trails. Impalement." Karl snickered. "Guess the batarians should have read up on medieval weaponry, eh?"

"Dark Ages weaponry against modern weapons? Steel against ceramic armor and energy shields?" By now the professor was showing more than just professional interest. "Where would the monks get such things?"

"From me." Karl shrugged nonchalantly. He waited for the next question, only for it to not appear. Looking up, he caught the psychologist staring at him as if he were a new, intriguing specimen. _Watch where you point that thing,_ he snarled internally. Aloud, all he said was, "I was a blacksmith, professor. My hobbies lay in metalcraft, museum pieces as a specialty. I made several for the Knights, and they worked."

The professor squinted at the young man, then made a few more notes. "Did you see what happened to the ... ah ... knights, then? Why they didn't survive?"

Karl scowled. "They were re-enactors, not really combatants. I know half of them were trained in melee combat, but this was supposed to be something like a parade, not a fight!" He shifted in his seat, eyes hard. "The walls were proof, but steel can hold up to mass accelerated rounds for only so long . Yes, modern steel is much denser than the garbage pellets eezo guns use, but the guns accelerate their rounds a lot more than arrows did." He shook his head in a furious motion. "I found a shield. Kite style, hardened steel layered with a leather covering and a willow wood backing." His head came up in the predatory motion that he knew was starting to scare the psychologist. "It had over thirty holes in it. And seventy five dents."

The professor's eyebrows shot up, like a pair of startled caterpillars. "So many? That was quality workmanship."

"One hundred and fifteen hours to get the process down right." Karl grunted. The predatory light left his eyes, turning to a more thoughtful gleam. "Less than twenty for the shield itself. Three shields, with a total of forty-eight hours." He considered for a moment. "The slavers didn't bring armor-piercing mods, I guess. That would have punched through with less difficulty. Still …" he let pride show in his voice, " _my_ work made sure nearly a dozen slavers died."

The professor nodded, letting silence build before asking his next question. "Getting back to the subject at hand, the reports tell me you were at the center of town when the Alliance arrived. There were dead batarians all around ... and the _Forge_ station was less than a quarter mile away, partially embedded in the ground." He frowned, as if thinking hard. "Lumping a lot of questions into one: what happened?"

Karl's eyes dropped to the floor, his entire body language drooping into near despair. _Don't mess this up now, it's the home stretch. Almost safe now, you can do it!_ He kept his eyes lowered; of all the tells he knew, the muscles surrounding eyes, and the organs themselves, were the most treacherous.

"Most of the dead were there because of Sven, the smith boss," he murmured. "He had an old power-armor set from the early Batarian Conflict days. A _Hephaestus_ power armor." Karl looked up, real, unfeigned tears glimmering. "He'd been working on it for years, tinkering with the power output, testing different weapons." He shrugged eloquently. "Well, I should say, he and his wife, Tina. They were ... potentially ... my future in-laws."

Dreuf visibly unclenched his jaw. From Karl's perspective, it looked as if he were straining, trying to not ask questions. _Good. Emotional response, met with emotion. Give more information, guide away from potential problems._ Karl answered part of what he could see lurking in the professional's eyes. "One of the things Sven scrounged up was a pair of T5-miniguns, from a junkyard somewhere. Arm mounted. I don't know how he got them, so don't ask me." _That much is true ... just don't ask me how he learned about them. Dad would never forgive me._

Karl waited until the psychologist nodded, then continued. "Tina was a wicked marksman. Better than half the Alliance boys when they stopped by for shore leave ... and she was holding back then. When I saw them ... he was in the suit. Both guns working overtime, keeping back what looked like half a platoon. New slaves mostly, neural bands in place. Neighbors. Friends. "He furiously rubbed the back of one hand across his eyes." He didn't want to hurt them, but they wouldn't stop. Tina either ... she was hiding behind him, whatever cover she could find. Sven would call out targets, and she'd take them down. Really proud of that rifle, she was."

"They were shooting slaves?" Dreuf asked carefully.

"Slaves. Slavers. Tried avoiding the slaves, but the slavers wanted a mobile wall; they didn't care so long as they're safe." Karl's eyes went cold again, calculating. Professor Dreuf visibly suppressed another shiver at his sudden shift from human to inhuman.

"What I don't understand is why the slavers kept coming. Their profit is in getting as many healthy slaves out as fast as possible. Why waste them in an attack?" Karl glanced back at the professor. "I checked for slave values, two months after the attack. By going after Sven and Tina, the slavers lost well over two million credits, Council currency. More than half again Alliance. Why?"

The question hung in the air, like a sullen thundercloud, ready to blast the unwary. The professor sighed, nodding slowly. "Do you know how many batarians were killed that day?"

Karl shrugged. "Depends if you count a batarian slave as being a slaver. If yes, than over three hundred. If not, less than eighty."

Dreuf nodded. "Alliance Intel managed to catch one of the slavers. After they left Mindoir, the Alliance chased them back to Hegemony space, caught two ships. Destroyed another three." He pursed his lips, shaking his head. "The slavers killed all they had, standard tactic. Alliance policy of no negotiation has its benefits ... but it's hard for me to see one here." He shifted back, looking down at Karl again. "The prisoners said the leader was taken out fairly early on, by a," he held up his fingers in quotation marks, "'blood-drinking apparition,' of all things."

"Vampire ghost." Karl grunted.

"Pardon?"

"Batarian mythology holds some tenets different from human. We had Odin and Zeus, they had _Bubullimë_ and _Blasfemues_ , depending on who you ask. We had demigods that faced monsters. One of their monsters of antiquity was apparently based on a nomadic nation; they employed specialists that killed their enemies by draining blood. Eventually, it became a terror like vampire ninjas, or bogeyman." Karl smiled slightly, "The Pillars of Strength is their current religion, although it has roots going back millennia. It is somewhat complex, but ultimately saying the batarians were created by a supreme being, and no other god can stand against It. Him. Her. Whatever."

"And the ghost vampire on Mindor?"

"Me." Karl bared his upper teeth in a terrifying parody of a smile. He knew it. He'd practiced it enough. "After I got free, I found myself in a position near the batarian in charge." His voice lowered into a baritone rumble, promising ominous things. "I saw what he did to my sister ... and he paid. Batarians are surprisingly superstitious, considering their advanced culture."

"As for what happened at the crash site? I don't know." Karl shrugged. "I saw Sven go down. One of his guns finally overheated, and the other one wasn't enough to keep them all back. Tina held them off as long as she could, but ..." His eyes twitched at the memory. "She went to her backup knives. There was a reason nobody messed with her, especially in the kitchen. After that ... I must have blacked out. I don't remember anything after that, just nightmares."

Deurf looked up sharply. "Nothing at all?"

"Vague dreams, like old movies. Shadows. Nothing else, really."

Karl watched the psychologist carefully, trying to think of nothing, letting hints of Mindoir pass through his mind as a mnemonic for the proper expression. _Almost home. They will be avenged, whether I'm Alliance or on my own._

The professor made several more notes, studying the transparent machine intently. He looked up at Karl, and smiled. "Well, that covers most of my questions. Do you have any questions you wish to ask?"

"Not at this time," Karl stood up. _Did it! Hope they bought it … might not have, but I gave it my best shot._ "Although I may have some for you later."

"Certainly." The professor mirrored his action, holding out a hand. "I will undoubtedly be seeing you later."

Karl shook the hand, smiled politely and left.

Professor Deurf watched the door for several moments after it hissed shut. The quarian tapestries hanging on his wall shook for a moment, and then parted, allowing two people to step out from behind.

"Commander Anderson. Doctor Quin'Zel. You see what you need to?" Deurf didn't bother with small talk.

Anderson grunted as he sat down. "Indeed. He is certainly his father's son, what I knew of him."

The quarian strode back to the edge of the same couch Karl had sat upon, examining it closely. "My analysis is complete ... but something bothers me."

Deurf cocked his head. "Really? Why is that?"

The quarian seemed to frown, he couldn't tell with the smoked visor impeding the view. The reflective eyes inside certainly gave the impression. "Even though he's had only a little over a year now, he came in prepared. Very prepared. Mr. Shepard displayed classic signs of trauma, mostly healed, and a deep urge to continue." She sat on the couch, mimicking its earlier occupant. Her helmet swiveled, giving the professor the impression of an automaton, scanning for threats. "He didn't ... " she inched back a little.

Anderson followed her gaze. "He ... what?"

"He knew we were there. Or that someone was."

"I'm not surprised." Deurf put in. "Mr. Shepard knew quite a bit about standard operations, even before he reached this room." He turned back to the Quin'Zel. "Do you think he was telling the truth? About where Lieutenant Zabaleta found him?"

The quarian's fingers played nervously. "I'm not certain, but all the other readings indicate he is. All I have is an instinct ... hardly quantifiable."

The professor gave an annoyed huff. "So what do you say, does he go in, or stay out?"

Quin'Zel shook her head slowly. "The readings say otherwise, but I say no. He's gone through too much, there's too big a chance of his breaking at the wrong moment."

"I disagree." Anderson frowned. "I knew his father, and I've watched Karl for several years now. If anything, he's stronger now than he was before. If he was going to break, it would've been when his application was denied a year ago, or when the legal department tried halting the insurance payments."

"He didn't mention anything about that." Professor Duerf commented. "I would have thought being a multi-millionaire by age 18 would have been noteworthy."

"Billionaire." Anderson corrected. "The insurance for the colony was worded so that the survivors would get it all, provided it was used to improve the colony. Young Karl was the only one both old enough and sane, which meant everything went to him." He sucked in a breath, "No one thought a colony would get hit this badly. I'm assuming the insurance corporations are looking into preventing another, similar, payoff in the future."

Professor Duerf tapped another entry. "That's one vote for, and one vote against." He looked up. "Then it's up to me, eh?"

Anderson shrugged, "He could always go mercenary, too. Nothing preventing him from rabbiting out of here on a tramp freighter, getting into it that way. If he joins up, we can at least have some say in it."

"Fine." The professor tapped a final entry. "I'm clearing him for admittance. But," he glared at Anderson. "You will watch him. If he screws up, on your head may it be."

* * *

Karl somehow managed to keep calm, maintaining his decorum as he trudged away from the analytical office. _Really, who do they think they're fooling?_ He wondered, _The oh-so-careful phrasing, of course HE wouldn't say anything, or there aren't any recording devices ... organic listening devices are the oldest trick in the book!_

He took a left, following the faint luminescent traces on the wall. Arcturus had grown a great deal since the time his father had taken him there years before. The memory threatened to overwhelm him, making him stagger a few steps. _No. Not now, almost there!_

Ignoring the surprised attendant, Karl shoved a handful of bills over the counter, and chose the nearest booth. Two seals later, and a second payment for real-time connection, and he was ready. _Almost ..._ there were still memories floating around his mind, prompting him to - to think-

For the first time in years, Karl Shepard wept.

Mindoir

July 6, 2170

Karl snarled, lashing himself mentally. Pain in his temples fought back. _Faster you idiot! It isn't far now!_

The deafening thunder of Sven's miniguns boomed ahead from what was once the center Mindoir's formerly largest town. Periodic cracks, like calving glaciers, told the entire colony that Tina was still alive, watching her husband's back.

Faint screams began drifting to Karl's hearing. Cries of pain, and fear, driving him even faster. It was like a nightmare; every step he took made his legs ache, gravity feeling like a cruel overseer, pulling back on his every move.

The pressure finally dragged him to the ground, legs unresponsive despite his desire. Desperately, he started pulling himself along with his arms, crawling forwards. _Come on, just like the exercises ... you don't want to let everyone down, do you?_ He groaned quietly, _Can't they just stop, for one minute? Give a guy some slack, hmm?_

Faint crackling, from the headset stuck to the side of Karl's neck caught his attention. He quickly inserted the earpiece, wincing at the loss of surround sound. "Karl here." He breathed into the mike.

 _"Karl! Son!"_

"Dad?" Karl rolled onto his back, staring into the pre-dawn sky. "How're the repairs going up there?"

 _"Not good."_ His father sounded grim _. "Listen, I wanted to let you know we're not going to make it up here. We're trying to crash it with the shields intact … but going through a full atmosphere is murder on particle shielding. Did you find the cache all right?"_

Karl froze. "Sorry, did you say, 'crash'? As in, unsafe deceleration?"

The man's voice sighed _. "Not much other choice, Karl. The main thrusters are offline, and we're losing altitude rapidly. Geostationary orbit only works as long as you're falling at the same rate as the earth. When we got hit … I'm sorry, son. On the plus side, I'm_ _standing on the ceiling! Benefits of space, eh?"_

The weight of the situation tugged at his mind. For a moment, Karl felt its seductive pull, sensing the beguiling emotion of the abyss practically begging him to let it go, just … set it free, and forget. The moment extended, stretching. He stared at the blackness that was both before his eyes and somehow far beyond any quantifiable distance.

He shook himself, forcing his head back into the game. "It's all right, Dad. This isn't your fault. Nobody could have planned for this."

Strained laughter came back across the channel. _"I wish I could believe that, son. But one thing you'll learn soon is that we never let ourselves off the hook … well, almost never. Your mother is the only one that's been able to convince me otherwise. Just remember, I don't blame you either. In the times ahead, remember: this wasn't your fault, even if you were on the ground."_

Karl struggled to a sitting position, feeling the comforting sensation of his father's handgun at the small of his back. "I got your guns, dad. Anything you want me to do?"

The older man's voice turned serious. _"Just look after your mother for me, as best as you can. How's Lily?"_

Karl's face stilled. Unconsciously, one hand cupped his front pocket, touching the twin rings resting inside. "She … she should be all right." He kept his voice level.

There was another sigh from the speaker. _"I'm sorry … I wish there was something I could say …."_

"It'll be all right." Karl forced a smile into his voice, although there was no trace of it on his face. Smoothly, he rose to his feet, guns clicking into their firing mode within his grasp. "I have to get back to it, Sven's waiting on me."

 _"You'll be great, Karl. I have no doubt about it. Remember: 'Trouble is coming: its name is Shepard.'"_

Karl smiled, remembering better times when that motto had been uttered. "Give 'em what for, old man." He slid the action back on one handgun, inspecting the ammunition block, snapping it shut where the mike could pick up the sound. "I'll meet up with you later, Dad. Organ recital next week?"

His father laughed. "Wouldn't miss it. I hear it's going to be downright heavenly." The line cut out, ending the mild static in his ear, while leaving an ache deep in Karl's chest. Very carefully, he ignored the fact both had known: neither was likely to survive this one.

Karl spun both guns in his hands, ease of practice slapping them both in position a hair's breadth before a batarian rounded a corner just ahead. He raised one hand, and the guns of his father spoke, a crack spitting hot fury into the slaver's faceplate. Fresh adrenaline roared through Karl's veins, heightening his reflexes. He spun a quarter turn right to see a turian slave, collar firmly bound in place, charging desperately from an open doorway. One handgun fired, sending a hypersonic round in between the shield-less slave's eyes. For a moment, just before death closed the turian's eyes for the last time, Karl could see gratitude.

Karl stopped next to the fallen batarian, liberating the shielding unit he found deactivated on the man's waist. _Why'd he turn it off? Idiot._ He glanced around the partially destroyed landscape. _On for safety._

Within seconds, he caught sight of his two oldest friends, partially shielded by the ruins of a grounded cargo truck.

Sven stood in a partial crouch, gleaming armor catching what little light was coming over the horizon. One knee was braced on the ground, holding him steady against the tremendous recoil. Both of the large man's arms shook, the mounted miniguns launching an indiscriminate spray.

At Sven's side stood Tina, small and lithe. Gray was just beginning to touch her dark hair, but the long rifle she carried sang its death song with every squeeze of the trigger. She caught the movement as Karl approached, whipping the rifle up and almost pulling the trigger. She stopped, smiling. "Karl! Glad you could make it!" She patted Sven on the back, resetting the cooldown timer absently. "Sven here has been stealing all the easy kills, think you could make him slow down a little?"

Karl grinned. "We'll even the score a bit, no?"

Present

 _That was a long time ago … by multiple standards._ Karl ruminated. _How many shrinks did I see? Three? Four? The lawsuit certainly took a bit of time … even if I'd already spread the money around. Hope they can use it …._

A soft beeping noise broke through his reverie. Quickly, Karl wiped the dampness from his face, using a handkerchief to dry the last of the evidence. Then, and only then, did he accept the incoming call.

 _"You're a little late. Everything go well?"_ A distorted voice asked.

"I think it went well. Dad knew Anderson pretty well, and I still think he's the most likely candidate for evaluating me."

The voice laughed. _"Careful, don't take that dangerous last step between confidence into arrogance."_

Karl frowned. "It's hard. I'm trying to act like I know everything. I need to use arrogance as humor … but it gets addicting."

 _"Naturally."_ The voice seemed understanding, despite the quavering baritone nature. _"You sound a little congested. Did you finally break down?"_

"A little," Karl admitted. "I'm trying to get over it quietly, no week-long states of depression or the like. The psychologists have mostly cleared me, except for the quarian back on day three. I think it was her kinesics specialty that gave me away. I passed it off as being really tired, and a strange meal the day before … but I'm not sure she believed me."

 _"You were never a good liar, Karl. Just stick with the truth, but hold back two parts. If you have to, give away the first part, but never the second. Imagination is always worse than reality."_

"I know, I know." Karl sighed, dropping his head into both hands. "Change of subject. How are the others?"

The voice growled, making the distortion pop and crackle. _"Mother is … coping. She's regained full mobility, but isn't the same as she used to be."_

"I'd think not." Karl growled, "She went through terror to get where she is now. Is she scared?"

 _"Scared? Heavens, no. That's part of the problem, she's insisted she's ready to take up guard duty, even before her replacement has been grown."_

"Then let her patrol." Karl shrugged, conscious the action wouldn't be seen. "There won't be any reprisal raids for a while, so far as I know." His voice turned dark. "I read a report that when the Alliance chased the raiding fleet, the slavers spaced the colonists instead of allowing them to be recaptured."

 _"I know. That's why you're where you are … Karl. You will avenge them. Make your family name a terror for the slavers. Trouble is coming."_

"Its name is Shepard." Karl finished. He hung his head before asking one more question. It was ... hesitant, almost fearful. "And ... how is Lily? And my brother?"

There was a pause, and the voice exhaled loudly _. "She will be fine, eventually. I'm … taking care of her."_ The voice paused again, then resumed, tentatively. _"She regrets breaking up, you know. She made a mistake, anyone could have done it. If you want, we could call off th—"_

"No." Karl said firmly. "She knew exactly what she was doing when she did it. I've gone too far to stop now, and you know it." He took a moment to regain control. It was harder, now that he knew how powerful his anger could make him. "James, would you look after her for me? I know we can't acknowledge each other, I'm sorry for that. But if I'm going to make myself a target, you'll only share that target by having the same name."

A violent hiss came from the speaker. _"I know, and I don't like it, Karl. I can stand on my own. But … mother can't. Not any more, she's holding it together for Katrina ... but just barely. So for now, I'll play along, but when I take back the family name, Karl, I will do so with or without your approval."_

"Understood." Karl's lip twitched in a half smile. "You are your father's son."

 _"And my mother's. Don't you forget it."_

"I never will." Karl checked his timepiece. "The link is going to drop soon, I paid for an hour. You?"

 _"After the "windfall" I received recently, I could found a communications company."_

"You might want to do that," Karl said, tapping his chin thoughtfully. "We'll be able to leverage a lot of cash in the future. There's a lot there, but practically a drop in the bucket compared to the asari or salarian corporations."

The distorted voice of his brother snorted. _"Yeah, but they're like Count Dracula. They've had centuries to practice. What do we have?"_

Karl smiled. "We have new technology, a strong economy, and access to the entire frontier. Remember, Spalding started out with a $300 loan. Look at their net worth now!"

 _"Spalding also had over two hundred years to get where he is now."_ The voice pointed out dryly.

"We just need to get a decent fortune for what our current time is now." Karl stated matter-of-factly. "We have quite a nest egg, and if my plans go well, a decent number of information supplies." He checked the timer again. "Looks like I have to go, don't know when I'll call. Trash the hard drive when you're done, remember?"

 _"I'm the one that built computers, Karl, not you. I'll get rid of any traces I can, with thermite if necessary. The rest will be covered by next week, what with the new settlers coming in."_

Karl watched the last few seconds drain from the timer. "Good luck, brother. We'll make our enemies pay. I promise."

 **A/N: This chapter has been moved from Early Discovery to the official home, here. My apologies for any confusion, it's been a fairly eventful beginning to the semester.**

 **If you want to see the Supplemental information, the story behind the story as it were, check out Early Discovery, my combined research/test subject for this AU.**

 **Thanks to Nightstride and to everyone whom has reviewed, followed, liked, and lurked. Until next time!**

 **3/26/2016: edits, thanks to Nugicorn!**


	2. The Beginning

… _something unique about Shepard? How about this: The rumor of his being a billionaire by the time he turned twenty has no proof whatsoever. While there are no records of the fact, it is very obvious how much influence he had over the Mindor Corporation, one of the fastest-growing businesses of the day. Despite the colony being his home-world, no one knows for certain how he managed to achieve that prominent role, particularly given the independent nature of the company. Some of the difficulties he would have had to face simply come down to time; his training took years to accomplish, and yet he was somehow able to remain well-informed on many financial fronts. I always suspected he had outside help, but decided to let it go. He never told me his secret, and I never asked. I had secrets of my own, as this record clearly shows._

…

 _Of course, the story of Shepard is more than his roots, important though they be. Just as a tree needs more than earth to grow, so does the tale of a true hero. While Shepard was strongly rooted by surviving his home world, the fame from that survival needed other nutrients to grow into the legend he was destined to be._

 _In that line, the formula creating a hero does not occur in vacuum. It requires multiple variables, not the least of which is strength, courage, and support. Where would Washington have been without his generals? Or Emperor Augustus without his legions? But in the end, after everything's said and done, what people see are the names._

 _Elysium and Torfan are the big ones in early Shepard's shot locker of fame. Lesser known triumphs include the Shanxi Clan, the Saturn Killers, or if you're looking for truly obscure reference, the Phoenix Nest Debacle._

 _Eden Prime is one such recognized name. It's where the acknowledged beginning to Shepard and Saren's epic duel became a reality. The ability for selecting talent, to spot loopholes and subtle cues, everything Shepard had learned came to one finely honed point._

 _That's where it *really* began._

 _Dr. Arnold Pavenmeyer_

 _~Project Ragnorak Files_

* * *

Normandy SR-1

2183

Present

The pod's soothing hum reverberated through the mind of the Lion of Elysium. It had taken a few minor sleep-med doses the first week, but he had eventually grown to appreciate the sound low pitched noise. The association exercise, as suggested by Dr. Chakwas, had worked like a charm to the point where he grew drowsy just stepping into one of the pods. He still preferred a mattress, or frankly bare ground — anything that started horizontal, but he could survive on this fare. The half-awake state wasn't helping matters any ... _maybe I should turn down the thermometer?_

Of course there was an XO cabin where he'd been expected to sleep, Complications made such an obvious choice somewhat difficult though. Shepard was young, Pressley was old, and the old man had a much more immediate need for a soft bed. Beyond that, the concept of sleeping on his back while the rest of the crew – sans the Captain, of course – stayed in the sleeping tubes was fairly unappealing. Besides, he was harder than eezo-compressed steel; when he stared at the Sun, the Sun went blind … or so he was told. Ergo, here he was, stuffed into a sleep-tube, engaging Morpheus in combat worthy of an elite force contingent. It was a relief to be free in dreams, the one place he could see the faces of those he used to know.

 _I should be happy, snuggled into my tube like a koala on a eucalyptus tree._ All thought paused for a horrified moment. _I can't believe I used the word 'snuggle' in relation to myself. But ... it's true. Everything's safe, warm, fuzzy, sleep …._

Still … something tugged. Something was not right. The action of instantly changing from sleep to a fully awake state was only possible with movement, which was inadvisable in potentially hazardous environments. Like prototype ships. _Easy does it, use your brains, what little you have. In, out. Keep the heartbeat regular … then show them why it's wrong to underestimate you._

Shepard kept his breathing even, slowly pumping as much oxygen into his system as possible without hyperventilating. A few deep breaths were better than coffee most days, although the dark stimulant was almost never denied. Full wakefulness could be obtained within fifty seconds, given the breathing method. Now, what was the problem? He began a checklist, working from obvious to less so.

 _I'm aboard the Normandy, groundbreaking prototype technology_ _–_ _which I hate_ _–_ _with the turians … whom I do not mind._ Prototypes sounded sweet and innocent, but what the word _really_ meant was untested. Prototype technology gave an edge over an opponent using last-gen tech, but only as long as the untested tech held up. Shepard figured the failed prototypes killed their operators, so only the new successful tech made it to the news, invariably good news.

In summary: _bad feeling, prototype tech, fully awake but pretending to be asleep with all the acting skill my thespian instructor back at N camp could impart. Such as it is._ There was no obvious reason for unease; that he could see at least. Therefore, it would be best to just greet the problem head on.

His eyes opened, focusing an annoyed Commander gaze on the view plate a few inches beyond his face. _I should have guessed._ On the other side was the stuff of nightmares … spiked mandibles, a bony fringe sweeping towards the back of a hairless skull, all framing an intent pair of yellow predatory eyes. Kryrik, Nihilus. Spectre. Council elite investigator slash assassin slash hired muscle.

Shepard keyed the opening sequence, maintaining eye contact with the turian.

"Shepard." The turian grunted.

"Nihlus." Shepard growled back. This was not the first time he'd caught Nihlus stalking him. The day before, he'd almost rammed the turian with a bo during sparring. _Apparently,_ he thought sarcastically, _aliens had no experience with blunt trauma weaponry_ _, at least by the look of the weapons the Spectre had carried._ That had been less than twenty-four hours earlier, and the turian was up to it again.

 _Any chance you'd like to explain yourself mister? Maybe your species doesn't understand personal space?_ Shepard inhaled deeply through the nose, barely avoiding shouting at the turian, choosing instead to stretch the recalcitrant kinks out of his spine. Stuffing a man as large as himself into a one-size-fits-none pod was no joke.

The turian sidled off towards the common area. Shepard could feel his predatory gaze every foot of the way. It was something about the alien's eyes … the perfectly circular irises, set in equally round sockets. He'd seen more empathy in the gaze of a vulture, nigh terrifying if you thought about it. But again, Shepard knew some people had a thing about spiders. Nothing personal, but he'd never seen the point of fearing a creature less than a hundredth of his biomass, provided it wasn't venomous.

Shepard caught the turian staring after him again on his way down to the hangar deck. The turian had a very understated body language, as if he'd been trained to suppress the usual cues common to turians. Shepard knew better than most what to look for, however, and clearly saw the minute hesitations in the tall alien's gait.

This time Shepard glared back at the alien, Spectre or no, sending a clear message. The turian spread his mandibles slightly again, nodding once before turning away.

* * *

2300

Recreation Deck

SSV _Normandy_

Shepard took a service ladder, eschewing the elevator. There was a higher possibility of stumbling, but at least it was a faster route. Halfway down, he did manage to almost fall over a rung, but managed to catch himself inches above the Recreation Deck ledge. Had anyone been watching, they would have claimed it an act of athleticism, but Shepard knew the truth: He'd tripped.

Just before exiting the access hatch, he paused, listening. It was an old habit, ingrained from spending too much time in technically-illegal places. Voices emanated from behind the slightly open hatchway.

"I tell you, it's like a dream! I can't believe I'm on the Normandy! Working on the same ground team as Commander Shepard!" A young, excited voice seemed to be tripping over itself in speed.

Shepard winced, grateful for the sheltering metal.

"He's a good guy, I'll give you that." A somewhat calmer, older voice responded. Lieutenant Alenko, if Shepard remembered correctly.

"Good? He's incredible! I heard the guys in the canteen back on Arcturus talking about some operation or other. They said Shepard's got a _Marksman_ rating better than the nerds on _Galaxy of Fantasy_! I looked up his record, and would you believe he's got more redactions than that freaking intelligence specialist we had last week?"

Shepard heard Alenko snort. "How did you know all that?"

"Ah, well …" Jenkins exuberant tone suddenly became lower, "I … might have accidentally discovered an access card. Purely by chance."

"Chance." Alenko's voice was flat. "Right."

Jenkins voice rose in protest. "Hey, she was hot! Like, super-model hot!" His voice adopted a vague, dreaming quality, "Dark hair, a figure you wouldn't believe, smart … did I mention attractive?" his voice rose again. "How come no one like that ever works here permanently?"

A sigh resonated through the access hatch, audible to Shepard's ears. "Probably because of grunts like you, Jenkins."

An indignant snort echoed, loud enough to make a point. "She shot down Hector like a skeet contest. Raymond didn't even try, after hearing about the put down. She definitely acted like an ice queen. Why wouldn't I want an extra edge?"

Alenko's next sigh was even deeper, if possible. "Because getting on the wrong side of Intel gets you investigated?"

Shepard nodded approvingly. It wasn't wise to irritate Alliance Intelligence. He'd gotten away with it solely due to his N7+ ranking. _And possibly a few bribes. Maybe some dirt, too. Anyway, the point is, don't bug them unless you're me._

"Um, yeah. Good point." Jenkins said, quickly changing the subject. "So, um, you heard anything about the Commander? I've read up, but all I really know is that the Captain asked for him specifically. I mean, I'm here on rotation, but the Commander was chosen for this gig."

Shepard eased the hatch open wider. It slid to one side without a sound, probably because he'd ensured it to be properly greased his first week aboard. Mentioning such a task to the usual engineers invited unwanted questions. He stepped onto the deck proper, a rugged brushed-metal surface, and made his way past the rec-room's lockers, smaller than the shot lockers on the main cargo deck, without being seen by the two squad members. Just as he entered the gym he felt eyes on his back. It felt like a pair of pinpricks, slowly jabbing into the skin over his spine.

He whirled, dropping into a half-crouch, palm slapping to the cool metal of a side-arm his father had left him. _Against regs to carry a sidearm outside the armory,_ he thought ruefully, _but Anderson knows what they mean to me. Lucky me._ Keen eyes peered into the darkened hall, scanning every square centimeter for the source of discomfort. Regretfully, there was nothing to be seen … but the uneasy feeling persisted.

* * *

The rest of the night proceeded similarly, continuing until the early morning hours. Shepard stayed in the gym for the most part, alternating between a lighter version of his workout routine and catching up on paperwork, feeling the hairs on his neck prickle every so often. He didn't like needing the reassuring weight of a gun in his boot to feel safe. Least of all, while he was XO on an ostensibly friendly ship. There were ways to fight back of course, but using them on a guest felt … wrong.

As a compromise between his conscience and reality, he broke out one of the NightStalker gauntlets from the armory, wearing the unarmored portion on his left hand. Sometimes, when fractions of a second counted, reaching for a sidearm took too long. It also gave him … nonlethal options, salving his conscience.

The prickling sensation faded away after several hours, he assumed, just before Lieutenant Alenko came back, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He blinked at the sight of Shepard in his workout clothes, lazily sitting on a bench while reading a report. Although it was nearly silent, Shepard could hear the implant plugged into the base of Kaidan's skull humming slightly. _Has to be annoying, constant noise wherever you go. Useful, but distracting, especially for stealth missions._

"Morning, Commander, or are you up late?" Kaidan asked.

Shepard grunted, setting the report to one side. "Not my choice," he grumbled. "Turian keeps getting close, wakes me up."

"Maybe he likes you, or maybe he's a she? Hard to tell with turians. Maybe the alleged 'she' is trying to work up the nerve to ask you out …."His tone was teasing, so far as Shepard could tell. Kaidan pulled a set of weights towards him with a blue flare, the nanofibers behind his ear glowing the same hue as the strange energies.

Shepard growled at the suggestion. "Yeah … not gonna happen." He shifted a set of weights from the rack, letting their magnets latch onto the deck. He followed their example, dropping to his palms and pumping out a quick set. "I think he's watching me for some reason." He switched to one hand, facing the biotic. "I don't like it."

The Lieutenant gestured, moving one of the weights into a floating position. "Well, he is working for the Council. Their people helped build this ship. Maybe he's just keeping an eye on the people in charge of it?" The fair-skinned man twitched, showing irritation. "I haven't noticed him watching the rest of us."

Shepard kept his arm locked, holding himself upright in a slanting position, extending the other gauntleted hand towards the weights. His fingers quivered against the contacts woven into the fabric, urging the gauntlet's eezo cell into a power struggle with the natural biotic. The blue light brightened in response, surrounding the weight in a brighter nimbus, flickering into a pair of lines leading between the two men. Sometimes the light seemed to vanish into spectrums Shepard couldn't see, reappearing moments later. Kaidan tilted his neck, apparently making a shift in the implants configuration. The lights leading along his arm flickered, intensifying the nimbus surrounding the weights. They twitched, edging towards the dark-haired Lieutenant.

"That's my point. He talks to the Captain, but he watches me." Shepard twisted his gauntlet, slowly building up the power feed. "I've seen him watching me when I eat, following my routine across the ship …." He made a face, closing his eyes at the memory. "I've even found someone trying to hack my extranet history recently."

Kaiden's eyebrows rose. "Might be that Alliance visitor last week."

Shaking his head, Shepard grunted a negative. "An official Alliance Intel agent doesn't need to do that." He paused, thinking. "Well, they might … but why? I haven't raised any red flags." His eyes cut towards Kaiden. "That I know of, anyway."

Jenkins popped up from behind a toolbox, face shiny with sweat. "Maybe she's a pedophile? Don't turians live a thousand years?"

Kaidan groaned. "That's asari, and no, it doesn't work that way. If asari only hooked up with people their own age, they'd be limited to krogan after a century or two."

Jenkins slowed for only a second. He always bounced back, higher than before. "Well, don't worry commander. If he tries to take you on a date or anything, we got your back."

Shepard had been trying not to laugh, but the young soldier's last statement disrupted his concentration anyway. As soon as his finger twitched, the nimbus burst in a blinding display, and the weight shot towards the lieutenant like a battering ram.

Alenko reacted instantly, flashing his hands in a warding gesture, blurring them forward into a shoving motion. The weights were deflected to one side in a spinning blast of cerulean energy, indicative of the biotic's true power. The weight impacted the deck with a resounding clang, spinning on edge.

There was a stunned silence while the weight toppled like an Euler's Disk. Then Jenkins fell over backwards laughing at the lieutenants' shocked expression.

Shepard shook his head, then checked his watch. "Glad someone found that amusing," he said to the pair of feet shaking above the bench. His tone was gruff, but there wasn't any heat in it. He looked back at Kaidan, "Sorry, lost my focus and moved … wrong." He extended the Nightstalker gauntlet in explanation.

"It's fine, Commander." Kaidan stood, stretching his arms past his head. "My reflexes needed testing anyway." His face twitched, visually similar to when a painful twinge hit, but Shepard wasn't sure. It was hard to read the Lieutenant's face.

Shepard nodded gravely, schooling his features to remain emotionless. "I'll be sure to arrange additional training with the Captain tomorrow." He rose, stretching the tightened muscles in his back. "Since it's morning, I'll just head up to the mess hall and get some breakfast."

* * *

0700

SSV _Normandy_ , Mess Hall

Shepard traveled to one of his more favored places on the _Normandy_ : the ship's galley. Like most smaller military vessels, there was no dedicated chef, or even a crewman whose secondary tasks were focused on cookery. However, in the time-honored tradition, those more gifted in the culinary arts frequently traded their skills in exchange for changing shifts or another duty common to any space-going vessel. The _Normandy_ , as a prototype, was equipped with rather primitive food production terminals … insults to the culinary art.

He slapped together a few extra plates, leaving them in the warmer, and retreated to his usual corner. _Back to the corner, eyes on the entrances. An unwary soldier is a dead soldier_. Shepard pulled back a chair, crossing a leg to rest the foot on the opposite's knee, simultaneously giving him a makeshift table for tablet while keeping his knife close at hand. It was paranoid, but the prickling sensation had returned with a vengeance.

The soft sound of a boot scraping over the slightly uneven edge between the mess hall and the short corridor warned him. _Metal boots. Alliance combat boots have ceramic plating … mostly, and sailors wear softer material._ He glanced up to see the Nihlus enter, and deliberately dropped his eyes to his plate _. I see you, and believe you insignificant. Like the krogan say, 'the best insult to an enemy is to ignore him.'_

Maintaining his eye-avoidance protocol was easier with the help of an electronic reader. Shepard used it to sort through the duties roster for the next week. _Lets see. Pakti, Abishek. Slated for weapons maintenance … put in a request for transfer to hangar maintenance. But he's got a massive crush on Addison … ah …._ he checked the list again. _Addison Chase, whom has also put in a request ... this is the_ Normandy _, not the_ Loveboat _. But a more plausible reason?_ He pondered the far wall a moment. _Check for other applicants, and mark down too many, if possible._ He moved on. _Grieco, Marcus. Good man on the sensors, but also handy with the engines. I can split his time fifty-fify, until we get a better engineer._

 _Jar'min Bakar._ He had to stop a moment before recalling the quarian whom had asked to be assigned for his Pilgrimage. _Ah, yes. The short fellow, with yellow highlights on his suit. Crackerjack repairman. Repair-quarian. Whatever. I'll have to double check; make sure he's not just taking those shifts because he thinks it's expected of him, big sense of duty, possibly too big. Maybe he'll do for ground support sometime? Mark him for simulator testing later._

Shepard became so engrossed in his work that he didn't notice the breakfast crowd trickling in. The first true inkling he had of their presence was when a crewman started laughing, dropping his utensil in glee. Shepard glanced up, taking in the room before focusing on the voice _. Felawa, Robert._ He remembered. _Able Seaman , First Class. Family man, thirty-seven years old, married, two children. Impressive record on the SSV Hutchinson, decorated twice for exemplary work on GARDIAN systems during multiple skirmishes._

"What's so funny?" he heard a female voice ask.

Catching the flushed skin on Felwa's face, indicators of embarrassment, Shepard quietly settled both feet on the floor and leaned back, deeper into the corner's shadow. No sense intimidating the crew a week into the shakedown voyage.

"Sorry," the light-skinned man apologized. "The article was just too funny. You read it, Helen?"

The woman's name clicked in Shepard's memory, although the face still failed to register. _Lowe, M. Helen_. Communications specialist, very knowledgeable in electronics, part-owner of a construction supply company. He thought about that point for a moment _. I'll have to look into that later._

Unfortunately, the thoughts kept flowing, driving his attention away from the mess hall activity. _Kaiden Alenko, one of the most powerful natural biotics in the Alliance is aboard. The best pilot in the Alliance is here, one of the most decorated N7 graduates is in command … and I'm pretty sure the marine complement is in the top tier as well. Elite forces, all the way around … and_ _then there's me._ He snorted at the thought. _For what that's worth. Then there's Spectre Nihlus Kyrik, hanging around the ship._

A bit of movement to one side distracted his thoughts once again. He looked up to see a crewman settling in a chair at his side _. Light colored skin, blue eyes, balding, with a beard, rank is …_ "Hello Pressley. Get a good rest?"

The older man smiled. "Best week of sleep I've had in years, Commander. Thank you."

"Don't mention it." Shepard waved a hand deprecatingly. "How are the systems going? Worked out the bugs yet?"

Pressley sighed. His love of perfection was already a standing joke, as were his complaints about the lack thereof. "Well, it's good and it's bad. You see …"

Shepard listened, nodding at the appropriate points, despite not comprehending the majority of it. The navigator was a good man, highly valued for his skill in finding routes, shaving days off transit times in ways that few others could perceive, let alone copy. For skills like that, Shepard would sleep with an anvil for a pillow … not that I haven't, a long time ago. _Wait … Pressley's older, but there's no one better than him at his job. There's that elite-ness again. What's going on?_

A strange shape caught his attention for a moment as a quarian walked into the mess room, one of the marines on loan from the Flotilla, part of the skeleton marine complement aboard the _Normandy_. His suit appeared to be more heavily reinforced than the average quarian, colored red and black overall. He maneuvered through the growing crowd in easy strides. Shepard had heard of crowded living conditions aboard the Flotilla, but every time he witnessed something like this, the truth hit him over the head again.

Shepard gave the quarian a slight nod, which was returned, before bringing his attention back to Pressley. Out of the corner of his eye, he noted the alien marine take stock of the counter, then slump his shoulders slightly. Shepard deduced the cause; _poor rations here. I need to add that to the supplies list, right after the Mako requisition and a few Mech armor sets. Idiots send us out on a mission before we're fully equipped …_ he refocused on the navigator, whom had either out of politeness or obliviousness, ignored his lapse in attention.

After quarter hour of commiseration with Pressley, Shepard excused himself _._ _The man has a point. If this ship is going to be doing high-profile maneuvers, it'll need to be running perfectly. The face of the Alliance has to look good, but we need effective people, not just pretty faces_. While walking past the island, distracted as he was, his foot caught on a corner, accidentally tossing the pad he'd been using. Desperately, he gathered himself, stretching an arm to snag the errant bit of electronics. It tumbled just past the edge of his fingers, almost mocking in its beautifully executed, if unintentional, backflip.

He landed awkwardly on his front, the impact forcing the breath out of him in a whoosh. Stunned for a moment, all he could do was stare at a pair of feet in front of his chin.

"Twenty minutes, thirteen seconds Commander. Not bad." A hand lowered within his visual range, palm upwards.

Grabbing it, Shepard allowed the crewman to help pull him to his feet. Shepard took a moment to brush off his knees, using the time to remember her face _. Tan, Caucasian. Medium height, dark hair, engineer emblem … deeper voice than Miss Draven … but taller than Miss Waaberi. Who is she?_ He covered his confusion by smiling thankfully, straightening to his full height. "Thank you, Miss. Much appreciated." _I don't know of any female engineers with hair that dark. Did I miss someone on the roster?_

The woman smiled back, holding out the piece of electronics that had precipitated his fall from grace. "Anything good today, Commander?"

He took it, giving the device a quick once-over for structural damage. _No nail-polish, not a big help on a military ship. Calluses on the thumbs, so a lot of typing … she's waiting for a response._ "We're headed for Eden Prime, same as yesterday. Routine shakedown cruise I'm told." _With the top Alliance combat specialists aboard, minimal marine team complement, no Mech-armor, and one of the Council's elite lapdogs sniffing around._ He took a moment to consider his thoughts, snorting mentally _. Too much Shakespeare, not enough exercise. I should write a book._

"Well, boring is good, I suppose." she replied.

Shepard noticed the woman had a strange look on her face, something that niggled at his memory, but couldn't recognize. He'd noticed some of the other crew with unidentifiable expressions as well, but then, it was only to be expected. An elite ship in the middle of its maiden voyage … it was an honor to be considered good enough to ensure such a valuable commodity's operational security. Having that kind of superior capability sometimes brought together strange people, each with their own little idiosyncrasies. Shepard decided to let it go. _Not like I have much knowledge on reading emotions these days anyway. Give me a good firefight any day._

"Well, thanks again. Speaking for the _Normandy_ , I'm sure we'll have a nice trip, and will see you next fall." He gave her a slight smile, trying once more for humor. She gave him the usual response, a slightly puzzled expression but this time mixed with an oddly hungry look.

Shepard took that as an opening to leave once more, this time being more careful about where he placed his steps. _Good thing breakfast is being served. Looks like she needs it … whomever she is._ He considered the odd reaction, then put it out of his mind. Sighing, he opened his omni-tool, making sure to note the duration and type of impact. _She's right. This time I made it two minutes longer than yesterday before tripping. Soon, I should have the place memorized, no more tripping I hope._

He took the opportunity when turning a corner to glance quickly back the way he'd come. The woman had her dishes in hand, and appeared to be currently taking them to the disposal unit. _Who the heck was she?_

* * *

SSV _Normandy_ , Pilot station

Shepard found himself lurking in the back of the cockpit, watching the armored turian stand behind the pilot. It was payback, in a sense; watching the Spectre that had been dogging his steps for nearly a week. Of course, Shepard had been far more subtle himself, ensuring there were legitimate tasks for every position he took. Not that he believed the turian was fooled at any time, of course.

"Sending handshake protocol to the Relay. Signal acknowledged. Stand by for transit."

Flight Lieutenant Jeff "Joker" Moreau's hands flew over the keyboard, aligning the engines to their Relay configuration. Shepard knew he'd done this a thousand times before; in simulators, shuttles, cargo vessels, and on occasion, military warships. He never seemed to grow weary of the task, of feeling a multi-megaton craft answer to his touch.

To the short man's right, a dark-haired man with a biotic implant checked the numbers from the co-pilot seat _. Only one biotic on the Normandy powerful enough to rate an Alliance T-2 implant._ Shepard knew the biotic well enough to guess he was running the algorithms mentally as well. "Confirmed for transit."

"Hitting the Relay in 3 … 2 … 1 …."

Shepard almost felt the tiny frigate slide closer to the Relay, harnessing the massive potential energy inherent within the ancient device. The usual spark touched, connecting the two separate constructs, and propelling it to the partner Relay, far faster and more efficiently than the best Hawking Engine.

Joker sighed with undeniable satisfaction. "Target reached, drift just under fifteen hundred k."

"Fifteen hundred is good. Your captain will be pleased." Nihulus stalked towards the aft, mandibles moving stiffly.

Joker waited just long enough for the Spectre to pass out of earshot. Shepard knew from experience the maximum distance sound could carry; apparently the irascible pilot did as well. "I hate that guy." he muttered.

"Nihulus gave you a compliment … and so you hate him." Kaidan responded. He didn't look up, apparently choosing to focus on returning the frigate to normal-space configuration.

"You remember to look both ways before crossing the street, that's good." Joker hit the presets laboriously programmed days earlier. "You launch yourself across the galaxy and land on a pinhead? That's fantastic!" He double checked his presets, matching them against the virtual dials. "Besides, he gives me the creeps. Call me paranoid."

"You're paranoid."

Joker managed to sound hurt. "Spectres don't take joyrides on shakedown cruises. They go where their leash-holders tell them." He gave the brushed steel column behind the projectors a fond pat. "Usually someplace not quite as classy as my baby."

"The turians are a Council species, and helped build the _Normandy_. They have a right to examine their investment," Kaidan objected.

Joker snorted. "Yeaahh, if you believe the _official_ story. Since when does an elite hunting dog get assigned to kiddie tours?"

"Joker has a point," Shepard interjected, making himself heard. "Spectres are considered to be among the best in the galaxy. Why send a soldier on a shakedown? Wouldn't a salarian ship designer write a better analysis?"

The pilot waved approvingly at Shepard. "See? Even tall dark and gruesome here gets it."

Shepard listened to Kaidan chuckle, feeling an old sense of camaraderie once again.

Joker glared at the amused biotic. "Hey, the man tells it like it is. Don't complain about the truth."

 _"Joker, what's our ETA?"_ A voice echoed over the communication device installed over their heads.

"We just finished the jump, Captain, and should reach Eden Prime within the hour. Uh, Nihlus is headed your way, and looks kinda cranky. Thought you might want to know." Joker thumbed off the switch.

 _"He's already here. If Shepard is there, send him aft."_ The Captain's now irritated voice abruptly left the system.

"Hmm, grumpy." Joker mused. "Wonder what's up with him?"

"Yeah, I wonder why." Kaidan rolled his eyes expressively. "Well, you heard the cap, Commander. Better head on back."

Shepard nodded absently, staring back along the transit corridor, letting his eyes rest on the bright orange CIC projection. He had good eyesight, better than the 20/20 once considered to be the apex of visual acuity. He could see the lines on the display shift under his gaze, highlighting the power flow currently running through the _Normandy's_ skeleton. For a moment, he felt a sense of melancholy rising as he tried looking at the faces huddled around the orange glow, swimming tantalizing out of focus. A pair of eyes became visible, then faded as the nose shifted into clarity, only to give way to an impression of hair overall.

Giving up on the exercise, Shepard made his way past the superstructure of the CIC, noting Pressley in his customary position. The man looked much more energized than he had the first several days aboard, testament to better treatment, Shepard believed.

"Pressley, how goes the calibrations?" He stopped just behind the older man's left shoulder, leaving enough room to pull back if necessary.

"Commander? Sir, the calibrations are going well." Pressley snapped off a short salute.

Shepard smiled, returning the gesture. "At ease, Pressley. Thoughts on our guest?"

The balding man's expression darkened almost immediately. "He's a turian, sir, and a Spectre at that. The Council didn't do anything about the batarian slavers until humans came on the scene, and the turians were the ones with the most capability to do anything."

Shepard's eyebrows went up. "An interesting point. What about the embargos the Council have put in place, or the patrols along Hegemony space? Turians have been very … eager about that."

"They didn't seem too eager according to their own history." Pressley muttered. "The Spectres sound like loose cannons, too. No oversight? How do they keep track of their agents?"

Shepard felt one side of his mouth pull upwards. "I think the Council would say something along the lines of how they've selected people who don't need babysitters. Responsible people, right?"

The navigator snorted rudely. "I've been around long enough to know you can't really trust anyone that far. _Especially_ when they ask you to."

Shepard grunted, nodding a farewell to the old man. He turned towards the communication room, sidestepping two officers who were conversing in low tones, becoming more introspective. _Maybe it's like the old Roman emperors,_ he thought _. When they got a good one, the entire empire prospered like nothing ever before. But when they got a bad one, they lost ground. Or maybe there's more to it? I'll have to remember to ask Udina sometime, he's around the Council often enough._

He detoured around two people, chatting about what he assumed to be Nihlus. _Hmmm, energetic. Highly emotive … Jenkins, Richard._ _The other has gray hair, so it has to be Doctor Chakwas. No one else on this ship has gray hair._ He slipped past the two, taking a longer path, while enjoying the sensation of eluding the good doctor once more. Among all the medical professionals he'd worked with, she was the only one who seemed to enjoy the games of cat-and-mouse as much as he did. Hiding his … condition … had led to a certain amount of subterfuge.

The comm room doors hissed open, reminding him once again of a massive serpent. Just as Shepard stepped inside, he caught sight of the turian Spectre, the large alien facing the large screen. Instantly, Shepard went on his guard, quietly pulling his arms together behind his back. The ceramic handle of his holdout felt cool against his skin.

"Spectre." Shepard kept his voice calm, polite. Whatever else could be going on, he would be blasted if humanity's representative would be seen as disrespectful.

"Commander." The turian's dual-toned voice smoothly returned. Perfectly circular eyes focused on Shepard. "I'm glad you are here."

Shepard hid a shiver, casting a careful look around the room. "Where's the captain? He asked me to meet him back here."

Nihlus sidestepped to a monitor a little further from Shepard keeping one shoulder turned towards the big man. Whether it was from habit or an active desire to provide a smaller target was unknown. "The Captain stepped out for a moment, some sort of human beverage, caw-flea?"

The turian shook his head. "The word translates to mean a thick mud, used to trap opponents in front of siege walls. I believe the software is not quite operating at full capacity, I was certain I read another definition earlier. At any rate, I actually wanted to talk with you. What do you know of Eden Prime?"

 _Special Tactics and Reconnaissance … guess which one this is?_ Shepard lowered his arms, entering the slow dance his counterpart was offering. "I'm told it's a paradise. The files I've seen show it to be very similar to Earth, but with a milder climate over its entirety."

"Yes, a paradise." Nihlus nodded thoughtfully. "That is one way of putting it. I would say it is vulnerable, myself. Near the center of your empire, equidistant from multiple bases, you would think it is secure … but how safe is it, really?"

Shepard felt his hackles rising. "Is there something you are trying to say?" he turned his own shoulder, letting his right hand drop out of the turian's line-of-sight. "I am not considered highly tolerant of threats to my people, Spectre."

The doors hissed open once more, admitting a familiar uniform. _Ranking … Captain. Anderson. Holding a hot steaming mug of …_ "Sir."

The dark-skinned man didn't look at him, focusing on Nihlus. "Commander, I think it's time to tell you exactly what's going on here. This is a lot bigger than a simple shakedown."

Shepard dropped his friendly stance, assuming his full-threat posture. "I _knew_ there was something."

Anderson turned the full force of his stare to Shepard. "Stand down Commander."

Shepard slumped, a little chagrinned at the rebuke.

Anderson pursed his lips, looking as if he were debating with himself. Finally, he seemed to come to a decision. "Shepard, I'm not going to lie. Nihlus is here because this isn't an ordinary shakedown cruise. This mission is set to retrieve a Prothean artifact from Eden Prime; an intact, functioning Beacon."

The news set Shepard back on his feet, though he tried not to show it. "That's why we aren't carrying a full complement? No decent hardware?"

Anderson grimaced. "I received word less than two weeks ago, Top Secret plus. The brass needed someone at Eden Prime as soon as possible, with as much discretion as could be managed. Admiral Hackett knew the _Normandy_ was almost ready, and asked me to hurry it along a little."

Nihlus stepped into the conversation. "I was called in as an outside observer. The discovery of Prothean technology, particularly functioning technology, is a huge issue. Massive. A young race, new to the galaxy, one that is not …" for a moment, the turian acted flustered, as if catching himself before saying something embarrassing. "I mean, the Alliance and the Council managed to reach an agreement to study the technology on a joint basis."

Shepard raised an eyebrow. "You mean the Council doesn't trust the Alliance to share technology?"

Nihlus shrugged. "In the short run, yes; long run, I'm not sure if they want the Alliance to extend the technology difference gap. The dalatresses are eager to get their hands on technology from your sector of the galaxy in the first place, after all. Those trade agreements made before your people made contact with the rest of the galaxy have boosted their industrial capacity to unprecedented levels." He looked down at his wrist, fiddling with the near-invisible band of his omni-tool. The ridges running along the side of his face shifted uneasily. "They've been making products that outmatch asari R and D, which is frankly incredible. The asari are making a comeback, but it's been centuries since someone has outdone them in technology development."

"Hmmm." Shepard let that one sit for the moment. Something didn't feel right. _One of the military best sent to escort a priceless artifact makes sense, but if security was the issue, the Council would have sent an army. True, Spectres are loyal, and rumored to be incredibly skilled, but they are only one individual. Why else is he here?_

He shot a look at the Captain, clearly communicating his distrust.

Anderson sighed. "You're right, Shepard. That's not the only reason why Nihlus is here." He gave the turian a longsuffering glance. "See? I told you he'd catch on."

"Indeed." Nihlus assented.

The captain sat down, moving as if he was now feeling every injury he'd received in his career. "Shepard, Nihlus is also here to evaluate someone for Spectre candidacy."

"Hmmm." Shepard's eyes narrowed, mentally going through the crew list. _Watching me, ignoring most of the crew … but why make it easy for him? He's been spying, make him admit it._ "Alenko would be a good candidate. Biotic, highly decorated, well-commended by all of his previous positions."

Anderson froze, then shook his head. "Good thought, but no." His face came up, pinning Shepard with a raptor-like gaze. "He's evaluating you."

Shepard froze, staring at the Captain. He felt like a small rodent under that look. Then, he recovered, narrowing his own eyes in a similar fashion.

"I don't remember submitting my name for consideration …." thoughts whirled through Shepard's mind, processing the situation. _Stall for time. Think, Shepard! There are still twenty colonists unaccounted for, it's been nearly fifteen years and I haven't tracked them down yet. The batarians are still raiding, and there are at least three major entities behind those raids; I don't have time to play nanny to three incompetent politicians! I have people to rescue! Enemies to kill!_

"I'm sorry, sir," he tried to keep all emotion from his voice. It had taken years to manage that trick, but the rewards were very satisfying. "But I don't recall being informed of a change in my status, or of my volunteering for such a change." His return glare intensified to a version of his own, something he'd copied from an aged salarian negotiator in his N3 days. "Sir." He added, almost as an afterthought.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Nihlus tense. On a human, the equivalent would be the jaw muscles clenching, but the turian physique turned it into a sort of twitch in the shoulders. Anderson on the other hand, just lowered his head as if he'd expected the reaction. "I know, Commander. I was one of the committee members for the selection process. Your name was on the short list, but I was sworn to secrecy."

"Being a Spectre is a high honor, Commander." Nihlus interjected. "They are born, not made. Very few are considered, let alone chosen to reach this point of evaluation."

Shepard twisted, bringing the turian into view using only his neck. The move was designed to show perfect body control, as well as a bit of a dismissive attitude. "Why would the Council want a Spectre from the Alliance? We are not signatories of the Council, yet you would give us an omnipotent agent?" He twisted back, blinking once at Anderson again. "Or is this part of the 'trade' for the Beacon?"

Anderson shrugged. "I wasn't in the top level negotiations. Ambassador Udina was overseeing that portion." His gaze raked across Shepard's face. "But the better question here may be, why _wouldn't_ you want to be a Spectre, Shepard?"

Crossing his arms, Shepard raised his chin. "I have a great deal on my plate, aside from my duties as the _Normandy's_ XO. I have made an oath to serve and protect the Alliance, and I am fulfilling that promise to the best of my ability." He gave the turian Spectre a dirty look. "The Alliance has enough trouble to take care of without becoming responsible for solving the Council's issues."

Nihlus didn't react. He watched Shepard, as if the commander were some new insect, exhibiting unusual properties. It was at that point Shepard realized he was facing someone who might be as good as himself _. Possible. He is good. Very good._

The PA system interrupted the tension. _"Captain, we're getting a transmission from Eden Prime. It's … not looking good."_ Joker's voice drifted in over the speakers.

"Put it on the main screen." Anderson ordered. His dark gaze lingered on Shepard, promising further conversation later.

Shepard kept the gaze, silently agreeing. Then he drifted back, automatically seeking the darkest corner, with clear lines of sight to both the monitor and the entrance. He watched the screen, catching as much detail as he could. The static-filled transmission flickered inanely at times, but the general point was very easy to observe.

 _"This is sergeant … under attack ... Require immediate …"_ The soldier in front of the camera fell, an assault rifle chattering in the background. Another soldier, female rushed at the camera, ordering whoever was wielding it to get down.

 _She moves like a Mech driver._ Shepard noted _. Good forearm development, slightly exaggerated motions, definitely stronger than the average mook. Why isn't she in her hardware? Did they get attacked so fast they didn't have time?_

His musings were interrupted by the captain once more.

"Go back, pause at 12:02." Anderson ordered.

The screen flickered more definitely this time, pausing at a point where the cameraman had flailed. There, on the screen, loomed a massive skyscraper that Shepard was certain hadn't been on the original colony plans. Dark crimson bolts of energy coruscated around its upper superstructure, arcing sometimes to the leg-like extensions that connected the seed-shaped main body to the ground.

 _Impressive._ Shepard acknowledged _. No wonder Anderson's considered one of the best. That's obviously the invasion craft … must have taken a lot of resources to create._ He studied the image more closely. It had to be over fifteen stories tall … _designed for landing, but that energy output doesn't look healthy. For a ship, anyway._

"Joker," Anderson's voice was full of soft menace, "Get us to Eden Prime, quick and quiet. Did you relay the distress call?"

 _"Distress call is away, moving up to flank speed. We should be there inside thirty minutes. Sorry, it looks like we're the closest. The next closest Alliance ship is the_ SRR Rubicon; _they'll be here two hours after we arrive."_

"Good." Anderson shut down the viewer. "Keep us under stealth as long as possible." He turned to Shepard. "Commander, gear up. Get a squad ready for the Beacon."

Shepard straightened, his normal clumsiness vanishing like a bad memory. "Yes sir. And the civilians?"

Anderson growled. "I'll send what marines we have, see what kind of help we can get."

"Captain, your first priority should be the Prothean Beacon. If anyone gets their hands on that kind of technology, it could mean intergalactic war!" Nihlus had also dropped his casual stance. Shepard had always considered the turian fringe to be more decorative than anything else, but he had to admit that Nihlus made it threatening, like a row of knives ready to impale.

Anderson wheeled back, skewering the turian in a single glare. "You go after the Beacon, I won't stop you. But I _will_ defend my people the best way I know how. Understood?"

The Spectre paused, shoulders set. Shepard altered his position to an unarmed combat stance, ready to jump the foreigner. Finally, Nihlus shook his head, snorting gently. "You are to be commended, Captain. I wish no evil to befall your people, but the greater misfortune could arise from losing that Beacon. Consider yourself warned."

Anderson merely nodded, stepping to one side as the turian brushed past to the exit. He caught Shepard's eye. "Get ready to roll, Shepard. This could be a big one."

Shepard saluted, hurrying to the door. "Understood."

* * *

Cargo Bay

The clear space, where a Mako should have been placed, felt wrong. It was like a lost tooth, an unfamiliar gap in what should have been a tightly fitted series of teeth. The lack of the combined heavy artillery and troop transport bothered Shepard almost as much as the missing Mech hardware.

Shepard perused his armor locker, gauging what would be acceptable for an ad hoc ground mission. His non-standard NightStalker set was a certainty, despite the need to keep its full potential secret from Nihlus.

The armor was donned quickly. Time was short, after all.

Next were the weapon decisions … _Not my dad's hardware. So then,_ _Brawler pistols, with their high-damage capability, or the Tsunami model, with their higher rate of fire?_ An assault rifle was out, as was the shotgun. The only rifle he liked was the variety that could kill from a thousand yards. Shotguns were not worth the time of day, short-range cannons that made a mess of everything in front of them.

Rushing air caught his attention. It must have been Jenkins, a few lockers down, testing his jets. Shepard kept his head down, but turned just enough to watch the young man smile in satisfaction before strapping the plastron attachment over his undersuit. The jets cut in, pushing the marine upwards. He hovered at head height for a few moments, and then descended just as smoothly as he'd climbed. The opaque faceplate darkened, showing just the lower jaw, apparently the last step in Jenkins's preparations.

To the other side, the reduced marine complement was already fully armored. An esoteric mixture of humans and quarians, the group gave an intimidating aura to the normally calm cargo bay. The quarians in particular had an almost skeletal look, compared to the bulky forms of the human marines.

Pulling himself back to what he was doing, Shepard discovered he'd already finished, and was twirling a knife between his fingers. _Keep it together Shepard, they're watching._ He spun the knife back into its sheathe and pushed off the locker door. Before it clanged shut, he caught a glimpse of the longer blade he'd hung on every back wall since he'd joined the military. Its deadly length seemed to flicker encouragingly as the shadows enveloped it once more.

Shepard watched the door for a moment. He gave it a respectful nod, and then followed Jenkins to the airlock. Alenko was already present, his lightweight armor polished but worn from multiple battles. Captain Anderson had also made an appearance, hovering near the back portion, conferring with the turian Spectre.

As soon as Shepard arrived, the captain moved forwards. The older man had the same glint Shepard knew from when the two had been partners in the N7 corps. He answered it with a smirk, and was rewarded with a smile. All that took a second, before Anderson had stopped moving.

"You know the drill." Anderson bellowed over the muted sound of rushing air. "Get in, secure the Beacon, get out." He pointed at Shepard, disturbingly similar to a portrait of Fate. "It's your baby now, Shepard. Take care of it."

Jenkins helmet turned sharply. "Nihlus, you coming with us?"

The turian checked his assault rifle. "I move faster on my own. I'll meet—"

Shepard slammed one boot onto the deck, activating its mag-clamps, striking the turian across the chest with an arm, blocking the turian from leaving. "We're sticking together. No arguments."

Nihlus cocked his head at Shepard. "You don't give me orders, Shepard."

Shepard let a feral grin spread. "You're right. This is Alliance territory, and the mission is under my jurisdiction. If you don't want to follow my orders, you can stay aboard the _Normandy_." He pulled back, turning to face the door. "Your choice."

He heard Jenkins gasp, but Alenko was too disciplined. A faint blue haze appeared around the biotic's gauntlets, but that was it. Anderson, shoved his way between Nihlus and Shepard.

"Shepard, this is your mission, but Nihlus is not under your command. He is operating as an independent. Understood, Commander?"

For a moment, Shepard was tempted to challenge the Captain's decision. As Executive Officer, it was both his right and duty to disagree with dangerous commands. He took a long look at Anderson's face. _He's done well by me. Trusted me when I ask for leniency, refrained from examining how batarian slaves got free when I'm around … I owe him_. "All right. But I will not be responsible for his well-being. If he's close, I will protect. If not, his blood is on his own head."

Anderson's face relaxed into a more amicable expression. "I know, son." He turned towards Nihlus. "Is that acceptable, Spectre?"

The turian stared at the two, clearly nonplussed at their actions. His mandibles dropped, revealing teeth a vampire would envy. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

 _"Drop point reached. Ready to go, fellas. Thanks for flying Alliance Airways, don't forget to tip your server on the way out!"_ Joker's voice came through the intercom.

Shepard checked his squad, then spun his hand clockwise. "You heard the man, go, go, go!"

He didn't bother looking back to see if Nihlus was coming. Either he was, or he wasn't. Whatever happened, he'd be ready for it.

* * *

 **A/N:** **Well, there you have it, the first chapter! Hope you had at least half as much fun as I did writing it!**


	3. Eden Prime

**_Mass Effect is not mine, nor do I gain monetary compensation from it. This has been stated once before, and shall not be stated again ... in all probability._**

* * *

 _Over his early years, Shepard earned many titles. From a lowly private, he rose through the ranks swiftly, although he seemed reluctant to ever gain rank beyond Commander. As a sergeant, he earned the name: The Lion of Elysium. His actions against batarians across Alliance Space gave him the sobriquet Nar'sheth, or the "blood drinking ghost" in translation. His N7 codename was "Chaos," and to one overly romantic researcher, "M-theory." When I asked her, she said it was because he "operates by his own rules. You can never fully predict him, or determine why he does what he does … and he does it anyway."_

 _She had a slightly glazed look when my agent interviewed her, ergo the validity of the statement is open to interpretation. However, the point is made, Shepard was famous. For his alleged wealth, for his skill in combat, and of course, his intellectual prowess._ _Any minor handicaps were blatantly_ _ignored by what would later become history texts._

 _I managed to obtain an eyewitness account of his first encounter with the Reapers, although I was unfortunately unable to attend that historic event. As you could imagine, it was memorable. Not for his combat prowess, which was admittedly excellent, or the death of Spectre Nihlus_ _Kryik, which was lamentable. No, it is memorable because of how the entire situation went from a planned mission into utter chaos. I believe the best analogy would be: "surfing an avalanche."_

 _Dr. Arnold Pavenmeyer_

 _~Project Ragnorak Files_

* * *

Eden Prime

2183

Shepard landed with a light crunch, his weight cracking through bushes the _Normandy's_ sensors had picked up, but deemed small enough to allow an effective drop point. The shrubbery had been remarkably difficult to detect. Immediately, the tactical part of his mind shifted into puzzling over whether the bushes could be bio-engineered as forms of natural sensor-baffles … or possibly as transplanted deterrents … and if he could get a few samples for R &D.

Fortunately, the rest of his mind was on the mission. Jenkins landed to his left, easily avoiding the shrubs with the practiced grace of a native. Having jets on his armor helped turn his natural grace into something almost preternatural. Behind Lieutenant Jenkins, Alenko used biotics to reduce his mass, using the lesser weight to gently skim over the thin branches before touching down.

 _Careful braggart. Think ahead, you're not alone on this mission._ Shepard's head twisted left, then right, missing nothing in his immediate survey. _No hostiles danger close,_ his gaze swept further out, _clear mid, good_. Something twitched, catching his attention. He swung a pistol into firing position. His comrades were almost as fast, Alenko's fist glowing with repressed fury while Jenkins lowered his carbine in an intimidating rattle of hardware.

Snorting, Jenkins lowered his weapon. "Oh, don't worry about those, Commander." Alenko glanced at Shepard before letting the pale flames die away. "We call them gas bags, harmless really."

Shepard flipped his pistol over in a more relaxed position but didn't holster it. "Fair enough." He stared at the ambulatory thing hard, then pushed it from his mind. "Jenkins, since you're the local, you take point." Sending light assault units on point was counter-protocol, but Corporal Jenkins was the most familiar with the terrain. Rules were made for paper worlds; war tore paper worlds in half.

"Aye-aye Commander!" Jenkins gave a half-salute, jets whirring in readiness.

Shepard watched him for a moment, casually moving through the waist-high underbrush without breaking a twig _. Impressive. I'll have to keep an eye on that one. If he can lose the whole "awesome N7" idea, he might be a candidate …._

 _"Sir!"_ a shout reached his headset. Shepard reacted to the desperation in Corporal Jenkin's voice, clearing a pair of shrubs in a single bound.

The light assault trooper stood twenty feet ahead, staring at a large, flat rock. From a distance, Shepard could see the carbine in Jenkins' hands shaking like a leaf in a high wind. Whatever else he may have been, Shepard knew Jenkins was as brave as they came. Whatever the unknown threat was had to be formidable.

Hardened though he was, Shepard had to quell a deep sense of revulsion as he looked over the edge. _Sometimes_ , he thought, _it's better to be me_. Next to him, Jenkins retched, trying to pull away from the sight, yet unable to do so. Shepard put a hand on the younger man's shoulder, silently offering comfort.

As the younger man quivered, Shepard took another scan of the horizon. From the relatively open clearing, he could now see a monstrous _thing_ , rising above the trees. Threads of red electricity wound their way around the towering construct, like snakes. Just the sight made Shepard's teeth tingle; an almost palpable evil sensation.

"Poor souls." Alenko came up behind, having been slightly slower than Shepard. His body language spoke of compassion; Shepard was sure it was written on the dark-haired man's face, but didn't bother trying to find it.

Commander Shepard pulled his hand back, ignoring Alenko's approving glance. _Stay cold, keep frosty. The closer they get, the more it hurts._

"Let's keep moving," he growled. "This looks like slaver work, but only the worst kind … " He took a moment to glare accusingly at the massive construct, still making red shadows flicker on the ground. _Easy Shepard, you already have enough on your plate. No need to take on more …_ he studied the body at his feet. Its burnt, blackened form … somehow … made it a little more personal.

He growled again, a rumble from deep in his chest. "Someone's going to pay for this."

"Agreed, Commander." Jenkins voice wasn't joyful anymore, enthusiasm buried in a pit of anger. Shepard felt a twinge of sadness at yet another loss of innocence. It never got easier, no matter how often he saw it.

With the grisly example so close, Shepard kept a more watchful eye out _. Watch the corners, even if you have more wit than wisdom. Three ranges, close, mid, and far. Focus on mid and bounce between the three._

A dual-toned voice broke in over his thoughts, clicking into his headset. _"Commander. I've found quite a few bodies at a suburb, half a klick east of your position."_

Shepard tapped the earpiece side of his visor, initiating a data transfer. While he eschewed helmets on ground missions, eye protection was a necessity. "Acknowledged, Spectre. Cause of death?"

 _"Short range energy discharge, and possible small arms fire. The bodies are badly damaged, but they're a mix of civilian and military, based on the armor pieces."_

Shepard inhaled deeply, "Understood. Stay wary. Shepard out." As he closed the channel, he heard Jenkins curse under his breath.

 _"Same. Kryik out."_

A large boulder offered a small spot of shade, incidentally an excellent place to think. Although the armor he wore employed its own thermo-regulation system, Shepard ducked under the massive stone's shelter, reveling in the cold sensation. He took a moment to survey his surroundings, noting the interplay between the abundant foliage and brilliant sunshine.

It was almost a parody on how such a sunshine-filled day could be hosting the terror that had to be occurring less than a mile away. The furrows between his eyebrows deepened. _What could the slavers be thinking? Teach a lesson? Kill and burn? Nihlus didn't have time to go through a burned house, were the bodies hauled out and executed?_

Shepard closed his eyes, concentrating on his other senses. He could smell the grease used to lubricate his weaponry's moving parts, and the slight ozone tang from Alenko's biotic amplifier, sending his thoughts down another trail. Alliance technology was still somewhat behind Council standards when it came to biotics. Humans had been discovered to be far less likely to have biotics, less than ten percent of the total population, in fact. Those few that were so gifted were wooed by corporations and government grants, almost to the point of bribery.

Following the train of thought, Shepard opened his eyes, studying his Lieutenant out of the corner of an eye. Alenko was a sturdily built man, dark-haired and possessed an impressive physique. He could also eat twice the amount anyone around him could, and work it off within hours.

Shepard winced internally, careful to keep the motion from his face. The cost of biotics was a highly accelerated metabolism, the ramifications of which were not yet fully understood. Advanced aging was a possibility, though the thought was frightening. Previous experiments had revealed no such symptoms, but those had been solely from people that had non –amplified abilities. Few official studies had been made after First Contact, almost no federal research had been made on the more efficient amplifiers created thereafter. A mistake in his opinion, not that it had been asked.

 _Can't always trust your eyes, Shepard, you know that._ The voice of an old acquaintance floated to the surface of his mind. _Smell. Listen. They can stop your eyes but they can't stop your mind._ A soft whine, unlike any of the hardware he wore, disturbed the calm aura around the clearing. Shepard whipped his head around, eyes scanning. Jenkins had just entered an open space, covered by Alenko while Shepard pondered. Farther down the path lay a pair of fallen trees, massive, ancient organisms that had to have been centuries old upon their demise. More trees, some even larger than their fallen brethren, overshadowed the path at the far end of the clearing. Shepard's mind raced, _something_ detecting movement somewhere under his nose.

 _There, in the branches._ He spotted floating shapes hovering under the forest canopy. Faint prism effects coruscated across low-powered shields, partially occluded by the thick shadows.

"Jenkins! Take cover!" Shepard bellowed. The floating platforms dove from their concealment, already beginning to spew their fire.

Jets flared into life, as Jenkins obeyed the warning. He shot skywards, manipulating the jets expertly, flipping to flop into an ungainly landing behind a fallen log as the drones fire hit his shields. Alenko, pistol already out, made a fist with his off-hand sending an azure shield over the exposed marine. The field rippled, courtesy of the rapid-fire rounds peppering its surface.

Shepard put away his pistol, swapping it for his long rifle. He took a moment to observe the floating fire platforms, calculating their motions while Alenko and Jenkins sprayed suppressing fire across the intervening distance.

The rifle's scope slid into place in front of his eye. One of the platforms twitched slightly in his direction, and suddenly all three platforms pulled away, speeding for the understory. Shepard exhaled, feathering the trigger. The stock shoved into his shoulder, but he was able to see the robotic construct spin out of control. Sweeping leftwards, Shepard was surprised to see the other two drones already engaging in erratic behavior. Instead of the smooth progress of an automated system, they were skidding, altering their pitch to grant him a minimal target, almost as if they were being guided.

Shepard smirked, something he felt free to do behind the crosshairs of his rifle. _You can run, but you can't hide._ The scope centered ahead of the fleeing drones, and he feathered the trigger again. This time, the high-velocity round creased one of the drone's flanks, shaking its course into a limb whereupon it exploded in a brilliant fashion. The third drone, buffeted by the shockwave, didn't stop. Shepard lost sight of it in the upper branches, but he was fairly certain it was returning to whomever had sent it … or it had overheated its main gun and was unable to fight, one of the two.

 _High quality hardware, excellent manufacture_ , he thought. _Those were metal constructs, very expensive, but insanely reusable. Most drones are polymer assemblies; cheap, but flimsy. Making them out of metal extends their lifespan for years, possibly. Months at the least._

"Easy private." He heard Alenko assuring the fallen soldier. "You're good now."

Shepard nodded to himself. _Good man, Alenko. Depending on how long this deployment lasts, he should be my number two for ground._

"Up and at 'em." He said aloud. The tall grass caught at his ankles, slowing his progress to a stalk. "We have ground to cover, gents."

Jenkins bolted to his feet, stumbling slightly. "Sir, yes sir!"

Shepard waited until Alenko approached, then gave him an approving look. "Fast work, Lieutenant."

"Thank you, sir."

Pulling back a moment, Shepard tapped the earpiece once. "Alpha One, sitrep."

A mildly static-filled voice came back. _"Alpha One here, sir. We're west of the main settlement, about five klicks away from that monster ship. It's … quiet. Way too quiet."_

Shepard held up a fist, halting the team's progress. "Speculate."

 _"Well, there's broken windows and a few smashed doors, but there's very little blood. I put two scouts on perimeter, but we have no bodies."_ The voice paused, sounding almost hesitant before forging on. _"Spooky, sir."_

He snorted. "Bravo one, what do you have?"

A different voice responded. _" Lieutenant Jørgensen here. We're not seeing – cut that out – any lack of civvies, sir."_

"Any problems?" Shepard raised an eyebrow.

 _"Just a lot of panicked people, and some idiots with guns trying to take on all comers. One of the morons tried to take a piece of me; we're fine, sir."_

"Civilians." Shepard made the word sound like a curse under his breath. "All right. Do what you can, but your priority is to see what's taking the civvies near Alpha position."

 _"Roger that. Jørgensen out."_

Shepard shook his head, motioning for his squad to continue. Bravo squad's Lieutenant Jørgensen had been a relatively recent development; she was headstrong, but brave, almost to a fault – hence, her placement on the second team rather than the first. _Have to keep an eye on her. Jets fly almost as fast as her mouth, she should be safe, but one wrong move … no. Trust her – for now._

The clearing was traversed within seconds, the dense grouping of trees throwing them in a deep shade. The thick trunks towered over their heads, branches weaving a wooden network dense enough to shut out most of the sunlight. Shepard kept a wary eye out for the retreating drone from earlier, but didn't see anything other than leaves and wood _. Nothing living, or pseudo-living, anyway._

A glint of light caught his eye. A toolbox, partially buried, lay next to the body of a colonist. Traces of dirt on the container indicated it had been covered more completely, but there were no signs of struggle. Other than the dead body, obviously.

Shepard knelt beside the box, looking inside. _What was so valuable it was worth his life?_

He pushed back the lid. Inside rested an older, but still highly lethal pistol. _Hmm, an old Mark V Striker. Not much power, but …_ he checked the side-mounts, noting the safety position and the mode indicators just beside it. _Cryo mod, good for taking down pirates. Good condition._

Pausing briefly, Shepard closed the colonist's eyes before sticking the sidearm to a connecting magnet on his armor. "Male, less than forty years of age," he muttered. "Some small warning, but not much. Surprise attack." His head snapped skywards, angling towards the looming spacecraft. "That means fast acceleration, really fast if he started running when the raid sirens went off."

Gunfire, muffled by the foliage, broke through the analysis. Shepard barely noticed Jenkins lift off, true to his training. He launched himself forward, while the young man took a stutter-step in mid-air, moving behind a massive tree and launching into the lower branches.

To his left, Alenko lunged forward in a crouch, sidearm raised for action. This time Shepard took the point, rifle poised.

The trees thinned as they moved, Jenkins flitting from one branch to another, changing his angle as the hill sloped downwards. Shepard could make out a taller spur of rocks farther downhill, larger than the nearby ones, and somehow more … sculpted. _Long vertical grooves, odd moss growth, like part of it was polished, interesting. The positioning looks something like an old guardhouse, if there'd been a curtain wall nearby … maybe a keep?_

His observations ground to a halt when the source of the gunshot sounds came into sight. Two women, one with tan skin and white Alliance armor, pistol in hand, the other appearing to be a blue-skinned advertisement for what looked like a disheveled lab coat. The armored female was dragging the blue woman, _perhaps guiding her?_ Both looked worn down, as if they'd been running a long distance, eagerly diving behind the tall rock Shepard had just noticed, pulling behind it as tightly as possible.

Close behind them flew another drone trio, followed by a pair of bipedal platforms, operating like a well-trained squad. Of the flying group, one was flying higher than the other two, as if providing overwatch. The lower two were moving low and fast, launching rapid-fire attacks that seemed timed for alternate cooldown periods. The walking units pushed forwards, splitting up to flank the sheltering rock, a textbook assault given their target.

Shepard didn't wait. He dropped to one knee, rifle stock cuddled to his shoulder. Barely taking the time to aim, he blew apart the highest flying drone, combining a shield-breaker from his omni-tool with the high-velocity round of his rifle. _Normal drones would have only needed the breaker, or the round. Not both._ The thought floated through his mind, vaguely familiar. _Heavy construction has benefits._ Behind and above him, Jenkins launched himself into the air, carbine spraying the remaining two drones indiscriminately, draining their shields. His altitude enabled an off-angle attack, forcing the opposing units to scatter. As Shepard drew a bead on one of them, Alenko slapped his free hand forwards and down, sending a blue sphere looping around the two women. The sphere rammed into the left-most walker, sending it spiraling into the ground.

The armored woman ripped an assault rifle from her back, leaning around her cover to pour fire into the helpless construct. It exploded, sending metal shards flying.

The single remaining drone peeled off, tiny engines lighting up for a quick retreat. One of those engines fell prey to Shepard's shield-breaker, forcing it to bank drastically away from its intended course. What was left of its shields sparked as the machine made a nose dive, trying to escape. A short burst from the armored woman's rifle crushed the last drone's shell. She adjusted her aim slightly, firing one more burst, and the bipedal unit sparked into pieces. The entire session moved so quickly, he hadn't had time to properly look over the walking threats.

Still cautious, Shepard gave the wooded landscape a once over before he made his way to the rock. Alenko stayed back, watching the Commander's back while Jenkins made a feather-light landing about ten feet to his right.

"You all right, soldier?" Shepard shipped his rifle, letting it fold to his back.

"Yeah … just a little … winded." The armored woman gasped. The blue woman nodded agreement. _An asari, I should have guessed._ Shepard thought.

"Chief Williams has been running a great deal today," the asari spoke. Her voice was a fair alto, compared to the soldier's huskier tone, and although Shepard didn't actively focus on her, he did notice that her body structure seemed more delicate than the Alliance woman's muscled physique. He caught Jenkins staring; one glare made the younger man turn away, blushing.

The woman in question waved one arm descriptively, "Been … long … day." Her face flushed as she noticed Shepard's N7 emblem. "Um, Sir."

Waving off the salute, Shepard took a step back, letting her catch her breath. "Alpha One, Bravo One, we have hard contact. Flying and walking drones, unknown manufacturer, highly durable, smart operator. Copy?"

Static filled his earpiece for a moment, then a voice, vague through the static. _"Bravo Copy … static. Can reach Alpha … humans, but ugly … can't reach …."_

"Sir," Williams gasped, "More of them. Some kind of walking robots. Doc here … says they look like geth."

Shepard nodded, tapped his earpiece again. "Shepard here. We have tentative identification, watch for geth. Get the quarians input on how to fight. Do you copy?" A faint burst of static, sounding vaguely like a quarian curse, indicated he'd been heard by at least one squad. His thought was confirmed when a moment later more static filled the air, followed by a stronger broadcast _. "Acknowledged geth … will retransmit to alpha team. Jørgensen out."_

The asari straightened, facing him after performing a brief examination on the other woman. Shepard wasn't sure, but something flashed in her eyes, her face twisting minutely before it disappeared. Deep in his memories, something twitched, niggling for attention. "I am Doctor Liara T'Soni, a specialist in Prothean archaeology, here by invitation. Are you here for the Beacon?" The asari's body language shifted from nervousness to a more eager posture.

Shepard raised an arm to shake hands, starting to answer, but the asari apparently missed the action.

"This place is incredible!" She gushed, waving at the surrounding area. "There are so many artifacts; this one site could provenance a thousand items in a few months! I wish I could rewrite my thesis paper here, maybe a study on furthering colonial-type –"

Shepard cut her off mid-speech. "Yes, I'm here for the Beacon. We can talk about it later, if we survive." Internally he frowned. _Something is off with her body language … but what exactly?_

The blue face turned slightly darker purple _. Blushing? Embarrassed? Here and now?_ Shepard shook it off, turning to the human. "Commander Shepard of the _SR1_ _Normandy_. Can you give me a sitrep?"

The dark-haired woman nodded. She seemed to have recovered. "Gunnery Chief Ashley Williams, Heavy Mech Operator, 212 Division sir. We were on a light patrol, doing a fast walkabout when those – things," she shuddered, "came out of nowhere." She finally rose to her feet. "I lost damn near everybody, shields don't hold up well for some reason, and we didn't have many heavy weapons. On top of that, my power armor is back at base," she gestured at the interloper spacecraft, "on the other side of that ship thing, so I couldn't get to it."

Shepard clenched his jaw. Being cut off from essentially an extension of your body was a crippling feeling. "You managed to get here, though, and it looks like you helped Doctor T'Soni?"

The asari lit up. "Yes, I was at the dig site, taking some measurements. I ran with two others, but the geth caught up with us." Her eyes turned downwards. "I … convinced them to take cover in … what do your people call it? Bunkhouse?" Her eyes turned to Williams whom nodded confirmation, "A bunkhouse, and I tried to distract them. Chief Williams and I ran into each other, almost literally, and we ran in this direction." She shrugged. "The rest you know."

Shepard was only half-listening to the last part, a dangerous buzzing sensation in the back of his head demanding attention. Experience had taught him to listen to that sensation, a habit that had served him well in the N7 program. He angled sideways, towards the main digsite location, listening carefully. He could hear rather indelicate footsteps approaching, but they didn't sound … human. As the asari spoke, he drew his rifle, suspicious of the sound. _Where's Jenkins? He's on sentry position …_ Shepard's eye caught a vague impression of the rookie, ogling the asari's well-filled, if torn, outfit once more. His own vision tightened on the digsite path. _That's it. I'll bust him down to cadet for the next ten years!_

A faint flicker showed itself along the path, unseen by the still-chattering asari and behind the Gunnery Chief. Shepard acted, lifting his rifle, dropping its stock on his shoulder in one smooth movement. As if in slow-motion, he saw the others beginning to react.

The enhanced view through his scope showed a humanoid figure made of metal, similar to the bipedal units so recently dispatched. Its head, or what would have been a head by human standards, was a cylinder strangely reminiscent of the quarian helmets he'd seen. The _Naginta_ under his jaw jerked once, then the mechanical being spun to the ground, missing a large piece of its pseudo-head.

Whatever else they were, the group surrounding him had fast reflexes. Between the moment where Shepard had begun lifting his rifle and when he'd stroked the trigger, the Chief had moved in front of the asari, whom had generated an azure field to cover the both of them, and Lieutenant Alenko had his omni-tool sparkling with an unspent shield-breaker. Jenkins, on the other hand, had nearly toppled off his vantage point, carbine pointed vaguely in the geth's direction.

Shepard inhaled through his nose, biting his tongue. The effect had him unconsciously attain the same demeanor as a glacier. It took a great force of will to not berate the youngest addition to his squad. Mentally, he let loose a few choice words. _Private Jenkins, we will be discussing your performance on the_ Normandy!

Commander Shepard slapped his rifle stock, pointing it at the ground. "Alenko, check out the doctor." He turned to the female Alliance soldier. "Williams, you fit to fight?"

The dark-haired woman tilted her rifle sideways, inspecting its heat sink. "Fit to fight, sir." A predatory grin graced her features. "Time to get me some payback."

He tossed her his canteen. "Get hydrated. We have a lot of ground to cover." He fished out a high-calorie packet from a pocket. "This should help your energy level too."

As the gunnery chief snatched his offerings mid-air, Shepard examined his surroundings. Constant vigilance was a key skill in field survival, part of why he was so angry with Jenkins. _First he ignores the flyers, then he's busy making goo-goo eyes at the asari chick … he's going to get himself killed._ A glance assured Shepard that the youngest member of his squad was now behaving with extreme care. _Good. Kid has more brains than me, better use them or lose them._

He took up position ahead of the others. "Gun check, amp check." He looked directly at the asari doctor. _Civilian … but she handled herself well before,_ _maybe?_ He sighed. "Normally, I would tell you to get to safety, but I have to ask: Would you mind accompanying us? I'm a bit surprised to see a prothean expert here already, particularly one from Council space."

The asari had a high-energy drink from Lieutenant Alenko's personal stock in her hand, slurping it down quietly. "Yes, not half as surprised as when I received the invitation. I was already on my way back to Therum when I received the request." Her eye ridges rose and fell expressively. "Apparently, I was the closest expert on hand, and your government had just given permission."

"Mmm." Shepard swallowed a smart remark, parsing her response. _Now's not the time, halfwit. Interrogate the civvie later. Fight now._ "Well, like I was saying, we don't have anyone familiar with prothean technology along. It wasn't something offered at the university, surprisingly enough."

Alenko, packing his limited medical supplies, snorted. "No surprise there. Ready Commander?"

Shepard gave his two new charges a critical once over. The Gunnery Chief was looking much more alert, polishing off the last of the energy bar packet with gusto. Doctor T'Soni was looking much better as well, even fussing with the torn portions of her outfit. _Definitely civilian, although obviously trained for combat. Most solo asari generally are …_ For some reason, this Doctor T'Soni reminded him of a Huntress instructor he'd once had. The instructor had been able to use biotics to do anything from blast through a stone wall to summon individual wires to her hand. _But her mannerisms are sometimes more like that of a neophyte … strange._

"Can you fight?" Shepard asked, somewhat belatedly.

The asari held up a fist, causing it to glow brightly. "I am perfectly capable of defending myself Commander, although I would request to be dropped off at the camp. There have to be other survivors, and I would be remiss if I did not seek them out."

"Fair enough." Shepard agreed. He tapped his earpiece. "Nihlus? We found two survivors, and took down some Geth lookalikes. Continuing on to the digsite."

 _"Acknowledged Commander. I am headed for the digsite myself, gotta check something out."_

Shepard's jaw tightened. "Be warned, Spectre. There are a lot of strange things going on right now, we do not hold the advantage. I recommend caution; wait for us at the digsite."

A dry chuckle came back over the comm signal. _"Your advice is appreciated, Commander, but I'll be all right. Contact me if you see anything else."_

"Understood." He frowned. "Shepard out."

The sound of clicking hardware attracted his attention. Chief Williams had disassembled her assault rifle, and was installing a disrupter modification with practiced speed. He had to admit, she was possibly faster than he was, although possibly a bit rougher about it. Disrupter tech was more sensitive than other standard modifications, due to the delicate circuitry required to add a static charge to each accelerated shaving.

The fact she could move so quickly, despite the fragile nature of her modification, spoke volumes of her experience. She looked up, possibly sensing his attention. He let one side of his mouth curl upwards. "Good thinking, we might need that."

A slightly pleased look entered her eyes, before she ducked her head. "Thanks Commander."

He sighed inwardly. _Right. Back to work. Wonder what's going to happen next?_

[break]

Grass-covered hills swelled on all sides of the hollow. There were no trees in that section, a fact Shepard found interesting _. Water runs downhill, this would be a good source for a large plant. Something kept those trees from growing here … prothean technology? Or a lack of mineral resources?_ He scanned the hollow more carefully. Stone plinths, millennia old by the look of them, stood in a rough circle, worn down into tooth-like shapes by wind and time.

The ground inside the stone circle was unnaturally smooth, like obsidian, but the color of common granite. Etchings like spidery writing circled around the edges, larger swirls looping towards an indentation at the center. Shepard's eyes narrowed. It didn't take a genius to determine something was missing.

"The Beacon … where is it?" Doctor T'Soni blurted.

Shepard sighed. _Why can't it ever be simple? A quick pickup and transport, or maybe a nice, trouble-free vacation on Elysium? Who cursed me and why do I live in interesting times?_ He tapped the side of his visor. "Spectre, the Beacon is missing. Repeat, the Beacon is missing. As geth are present, I give it a high probability that the geth have it."

A string of untranslated words issued from Shepard's earpiece, presumably not a paean lauding his virtues, such as they were _. "That moves up the timetable, Shepard. I'm out of contact with the_ Normandy, _not receiving anything from anyone over a kilometer away. Headed for the tram station now, meet me there."_

"Acknowledged." Shepard slapped the connection off, and rested a moment. _Now I have to chase a stupid piece of alien hardware, the function of which we do not know, and probably never will._ He stood up, circling his arm to gain attention, and pointed up the trail. "Let's move out. We have a glorified coffeemaker to catch."

He heard someone repress a guffaw, but Doctor T'Soni frowned. "I do not believe the Beacon was originally designed for … ah. You are … joking?"

"Sarcasm, actually." Shepard gestured for the Gunnery Chief to precede the group. An irrepressible urge to use levity overcame him. "It's a fine line between sarcasm and irony, but I'll walk it."

[break]

Their target was beyond a hill, but it was nearly level until that place. What was on that hill however was … disturbing. The kind of thing that made nightmare material for even a seasoned soldier's lifetime.

Shepard stared. He couldn't believe his eyes … over the course of ten years of delving into the seamiest side of what humanity had to offer, very little had come close to equaling this. _Bad. This is very bad. Beyond a simple raid, people don't just horizontal-crucify others for the fun of it … and they weren't even cruel about it. The Turks once crucified people, Romans and Assyrians too … but the geth? No legal reason, no feeding need … why?_

He and his newly augmented squad were partially hidden by a line of bushes situated next to the boulders that seemed so common to the colony. The path ran past their feet, directly intersecting the ridge just before tall spikes forced themselves into view. Two spikes held the motionless bodies of former colonists already; the last was just now rising, bearing its gruesome load.

It took a moment before Shepard noticed a familiar looking tattoo on one of the victims' lower arm. _Where have I seen that before?_ He took a small white square from a packet in his belt popping it into his mouth. The taste flared against his senses, soothing. Maybe it would help alleviate the bile he tasted.

"Leroy!"

Emotion filled the scream, raw like how Shepard's intestines were feeling. _Who's … No, not –_ "Jenkins!" He bellowed, flinging an arm sideways, trying to arrest the aerial specialist.

Corporal Jenkins blasted over him, rockets flaring white in the shadows. Ignoring all protocol, he rose higher, streaking into the sky like a blue painted missile. He hung in midair, frozen in time for a split-second, looking like an avenging angel. The effect was only heightened by the expression of pure rage in his movements and the fire on his back flaring sideways like a massive pair of wings.

"Cover him!" Shepard dropped his rifle, letting it fall to the ground in favor of drawing both pistols from his belt. They snapped open, spitting fire at the synthetic forms ahead of him. It was far more inaccurate than a single side-arm, but their combined fire rate, especially on full auto, put assault rifles to shame.

Williams had lunged out with him, assault rifle roaring a basso line to his syncopated tempo. Her face bore an unappealing mixture of anger and compassion.

Shepard tossed the pistol in his right hand to the ground, whipping a grenade from his omni-tool. It flew into the geth squad, grouped around the crucified dead colonists, depleting their shields. In an instant, he dropped to one knee, scooping up his pistol, resuming fire. A blue flash behind his head let him know Kaiden was working his magic; one of the drones lifting into the air gave further confirmation. A second blue flash from the asari banished the machine into whatever afterlife it espoused.

The silence almost took him by surprise. He'd seen the last geth fall, but had somehow expected a more jarring sensation. It was a silence interrupted by the broken sobs of a man, unexpectedly bereft. It was a hard thing to watch, seeing a grown man, skilled in the art of death, reduced to such a state.

"Leroy … no …." Shepard could only watch as the youngest member of his squad came to a stop by the post holding what had once been a man. Offering comfort was … hard.

Alenko, on the other hand, moved forward, gently touching the younger man's shoulder. "I'm sorry, was he …?" His tone was soft, hardly befitting the man of war Shepard had just witnessed.

"My brother," Jenkins whispered. "I was going to surprise him with a visit today, he works at the tram station. I saw him a month ago … my God, what have they _done_ to him?" He flared his rockets again, this time much more carefully than his earlier burst. His pace slowed as he reached the top of the spike, giving him time to look at what was left. The jets hummed mournfully under his manipulation, quavering in time with his barely-suppressed sobs.

The young man studied the still form atop the spike, tears streaking through the mud staining his face. Almost violently, he pulled the body up, off the spike and then lowered it to the ground.

Shepard said nothing. The body, once Caucasian in color, now had a deep blue appearance, the tattoo fading into the darkened flesh. White wires, glowing with energy crisscrossed the body haphazardly. The entire body looked emaciated, as if it had desiccated under the sun for months with even the hair reduced to a few lost strands.

"Jenkins …" Shepard tried to warn him.

The young man glared down at him defiantly. "He's my _brother_! You may have lost your family a while back Commander, but I lost him less than a minute ago!"

The words almost made Shepard stumble. It had been years since Mindoir, but the pain was always present. He must have let something slip, when he saw a strange expression on Chief Williams face. He ignored it.

A gasping moan came from the blue body startled them all. Jenkins leaned over the body closely, seizing its shoulders. "Leroy! Can you hear me? It's Richard!"

Hair on the back of Shepard's neck rose. _That body doesn't look_ human _any more. Its eyes are open, but there's nothing actually looking out of them._

The body twitched, and then shuddered spasmodically. The Corporal clung to the body, trying to restrain its movements.

"Goddess …" Shepard heard the asari mumble behind his back. _So, she returned._ He had to agree, sending an additional silent plea for guidance.

Jenkins suddenly jerked back, screaming. Electricity arced from the glistening wires, sapping Shepard's shields even at distance. The effect on Jenkins was much more severe, cutting through his shields like a soap bubble. The shock released his grip on one arm, setting it free. The arm swung upwards, striking Jenkins across the throat, raking its claws into the skin. Jenkins flew backwards, one of the rockets detonating under the overstressed systems. The force of the explosion tossed Jenkins over the ridge out of sight.

With an outraged cry, Alenko swept his arm in a hammering gesture. The body, a mere husk of the man it once was, flattened, head crushed beyond recognition.

Shepard leaped over the still convulsing body, bounding over the top of the hill in full pursuit of the Corporal. He dimly heard Alenko shouting into his earpiece, warning the other two teams. _I should have stopped him, could have stopped him._ Shepard spotted Jenkins laying half-way down the hill, trapped between a boulder and a mass of fallen rubble.

"Commander!"

Chief William's voice didn't slow Shepard's steps. Her spray of assault rifle fire caught his attention though, directing it towards more geth on the flat slope beneath the hill. More of the blue ex-colonists were rising from spikes, emitting the strange howling noise Jenkins former brother had been screaming.

Shepard tucked into a shoulder roll. _What was it ... shell? Husk? Hmm, that will do for the report. Until I get something better, anyway._ He peeked from cover, spotting a likely target. Reaching back yielded nothing, shocking him for a moment. Then he remembered dropping his rifle at the top of the hill. _Stupid, slow Shepard! That's what you get for leaping before you look._ He drew one pistol, studying the situation. A half-dozen husks were lurching up the path, while geth forced him to stay down with long-range fire. It was an excellent strategy, he had to admit, even if it was at his expense. _Ah well. Nothing for it but to bite the bullet._ His hand tensed, swinging the death-dealing device into position.

The sound of footsteps crunching the stones on the path changed his focus briefly. He angled up the path, but redirected upon seeing the asari hurrying towards him. Alenko and Williams were flanking her, throwing suppressing fire past Shepard's boulder.

 _Ah. Failure to plan requires assistance, apparently._ He gave a minute shrug. _At least you won't have to put yourself at higher risk by going solo, like Kryik._

Taking advantage of the distraction the presence of his squad provided, Shepard launched a sabotage charge at the leading husk. It stumbled, glowing as if it had short-circuited something in its brain. _Not bad._ He tapped the override control, setting up a second sabotage charge before the initial bursts's cool-down finished. The second charge forced another husk to its knees, where Chief Williams was more than able to gun it into pieces.

Shepard winced. A blue chunk had reached his side of the rock, rolling like a thing made of metal, not flesh. A clattering noise drew his attention to the sniper rifle, lying at his side. The grinning mouth, set in the blue face of the asari doctor made a nice contrast to what he'd been watching. He smiled back, seizing the weapon. "Thanks."

She pointed at several trailer-shaped bunkhouses. "I left them in there, I have to check!"

He shrugged in return. She was a big girl, and could make her own decisions, stupid though they might be. "I can't guarantee your safety. There's no Beacon here, but I'm sure the Alliance could use your expertise when we find it."

The asari made an unfamiliar hand gesture. "I worked with these people, I'm responsible for them." Still, she looked reluctant to leave, almost torn, if Shepard was reading her body language correctly. "Call me when you find it? I've wanted to see one my entire life!"

"You'll be the second one I call." Shepard promised. "After I report it."

A brilliant smile made him almost wish it hadn't been a combat setting, and then she was gone, flitting over the rocks in an effervescent blur. _Eyes on the target, Shepard. Ignore the scenery!_

Sniper rifles came in many different categories. The better ones, in Shepard's opinion, were designed to drill through tank armor. Blowing holes through an engine was a highly efficient method for stopping mobile transports. A sufficiently accurate sniper, using such a weapon, could command an entire battlefield, holding back an armor rush that would otherwise overwhelm an infantry battle line; he'd learned that through experience on Torfan.

However, a lighter model, faster firing, could wreak havoc against infantry. While it did little against a krogan or a transport, it could force an entire infantry company to stay down. The _Naginta_ line was especially effective in that line of work. And he had one.

An unholy glee bubbled just under Shepard's controlled expression. The _Naginta_ felt delicate in his grasp, like a flower, scope expanding from the stock end. The omni-tool activated on his wrist, giving him quick-access to the personnel radar. After a quick glance at the screen, he acceded to the weapon's demand.

Crosshairs moved in front of his eyes, intersecting over the scene the radar had relayed to him. A husk, ambling up the path at a deceptively fast pace became his first victim. Two rounds struck just below what had once been its jugular, shredding everything they touched.

Without a spotter, Shepard wasted several valuable seconds checking his kill before moving on. His next target, a geth unit, received three rapid-fire rounds, two to rupture its shields, one to separate the flashlight from its supporting column. _And that's why metal works only to a certain point, boys and girls. Slows you down, doesn't stop a higher power gun._

Shepard wished he could bring one of the more powerful Anti-Material rifles to bear, but those were simply too heavy for anyone but a krogan to wield freehand. The more massive constructs were normally mounted on tanks or transports, used to command danger zones from relatively safe positions. He'd heard rumors of asari commandos carrying them, but the idea of an asari toting a thirty kilo gun in addition to a normal kit was … unlikely.

Still. One of them could have blasted a geth with one shot. No mods.

He hesitated when his crosshairs swept over a turian of all things. It wasn't Nihlus, but he was no civilian either. The geth ignored his presence, even moved out of the way in some cases. _He must have a really powerful IFF device. Or he's working with them …? No, ridiculous notion._

The crosshairs skimmed past the cranial fringe, plugging holes into a larger geth platform just past the turian's shoulder. It was a show-off maneuver, what his old instructor would have called a _brag shot_. Aiming so close to a friendly, in order to remove a foe, took skill. From the twitching faceplates, Shepard knew the turian was well aware of it as well.

 _"Shepard, I interrogated a civilian. The Beacon has been moved to the colony proper. Are you near the tram station?"_ The turian Spectre's voice, occluded by static, pierced through the sound of gunfire.

"Fighting our way through, Spectre." Shepard shouted. "Watch out for blue human thingies. Husks."

The voice came back. _"Yes, I took down a few myself. Watch yourself, they are significantly stronger than a normal human."_

"Got it. Shepard out." He pulled a bead on yet another geth unit, this one twitching as if it had downloaded a dance marathon program. "Who hit the geth, low right?"

"Me." Alenko's tenor came back. "Sabotage charge, must have lost shields already."

One shot, and the decapitated mechanical structure collapsed. "Excellent choice. We'll have to remember that trick."

"Commander! Behind you!"

Shepard spun. He saw a shadowy movement, and instinctively threw his rifle up in a parry. The weapon burst into pieces, cutting his face. Stumbling back from the force, he just barely missed being hit by a follow up strike _. Where's a sword when you need one?_ The increased distance allowed him to see his attacker, another husk. The blue monster leaped, heedless of its own safety. Its legs wrapped around Shepard's chest, driving him backwards into the boulder, arms flailing in a savage beating.

Each blow rocked Shepard harder than he could remember being hit. _Of course, if I got hit this hard in the past, I probably lost memory due to concussion._ It was all he could do, fending off the blows with the forearm guards; striking back while in such a disadvantaged position would be … ill advised. His pistol was dropped again, and he couldn't reach its partner, tucked under the husk's leg. He didn't think the thing would respond to a polite request. _Nothing for it._

He glanced around, blocking the powerful, albeit clumsy strikes; Alenko was exchanging fire with at least two geth units, and Chief Williams was nowhere in sight. The asari had her back turned, fending off a trio of husks. _At least there are no witnesses._

Making the necessary motions in his glove while fending off an opponent that seemed to have the strength of a demon was very difficult. Impossible, by some standards. _No. Not impossible Just hard as— there we go!_

The contacts inside his gloves opened, unleashing the latent potential built into all NightStalker armor sets. Unlike power armor, the 'mechs' used by heavy marine specialists, the NightStalker had an intricate network of Element Zero nodules. The nodes ran along nanofiber wires, placed throughout the suit in mimicry of the human nervous system. The result was a hideously expensive method for artificially copying biotics.

The glow emitted from his gauntlet wasn't the soft blue he'd witnessed Lieutenant Alenko use. Nor was it the more powerful blaze that he'd seen Doctor T'Soni's palms emit.

No, this display had a much more mechanical look, a harsh white discharge that was tinged with blue around its penumbra. The simple warp technique his armor imitated, used to destabilize armor structure by biotics throughout the galaxy, had none of the subtlety a natural biotic would have attained. This warp disintegrated the husk's torso, leaving a pair of arms and legs to fall on the ground.

Shepard seized his dropped weapon, spinning it once, checking the rotation for wobble. It was a fast-and-ugly trick, but adequate for most circumstances. It landed cleanly, just in time for him to snap off a quick Mozambique drill{, dropping another husk in its tracks. He smiled. _Old sarge was right; Two to the chest, one to the head, makes a bad-guy good and dead._

The sudden quiet, a familiar experience yet still jarring, met his ears. Shepard accepted the quiet nod of approval Alenko gave him, and gave one of his own to the Gunnery Chief across the way. She appeared to have gone hand-to-hand with a geth, and was now cleaning white hydraulic fluids from her boot knife.

"What kind of knife is that?" Shepard noted stab wounds in the geth unit's ocular portion, and what appeared to be severed hydraulics.

"Reichtan, modern copy," the woman answered. The blade slipped into her boot. "Get enough force in the right place, and you could take down a krogan with one of these."

Laughing felt too forced, so Shepard gave her a smile. _I have to remember to keep another knife myself, especially if these husk things are going to be around more often._ His thoughts turned to the weapons he'd stashed in various caches. _Mmm, I got options. Maybe later._

That was only a distraction though, and he knew it. Reluctantly, he turned towards what had once been a brave man

Jenkins' body lay near the bottom of the hill, a footstep and an infinity away from Shepard. _Too many. I can't remember how many have died, their faces are a blur._ Shepard sank to one knee, gently closing the young man's eyes. _I use the same hand to kill the shell of a man, to say farewell to another shell. Why them? Jenkins had so much potential._

He could feel a presence behind him, and smelled a faint scorch of ozone. He kept his voice low, almost whispering. "Rest easy, soldier. I'll take it from here."

Raising his voice, he acknowledged the man behind him. "We'll give him a proper burial later. For now … we have to move on."

"Yessir." Alenko didn't ask any questions. From what Shepard had seen, the man had been through a great deal himself. "Sir? That ship is taking off."

Shepard looked up, watching the massive construct rise into the sky. The same red lightning continued to play around its superstructure. The Normandy was still out of contact, and the colony had nothing large enough to repel the monstrosity, despite it being a colony numbering in the millions. He followed the ship's progress, watching its Mass Effect field warp the cloud layers into hollow rings. _Bet that's going to change in the next few months._

[break]

The tram line was almost literally a dump. Crates littered the sidewalks, scattered in no recognizable pattern. Shepard saw one body stretched behind the crates, apparently crushed when a pile had toppled. Why anyone would have stacked heavy crates, and then hidden underneath them was beyond him, though.

Quick movement caught his attention. "Spectre. Glad you could make it."

The turian seemed to do a quick headcount. "Jenkins?"

Shepard shook his head once, roughly. "Recognized a husk. Rushed ahead." He could see Alenko's jaw tighten. Williams body language didn't change at all. Understandable, she'd just lost her entire company.

Nihlus simply nodded. "My apologies, Commander. He had promise."

The somewhat familiar form of the asari doctor joined the discussion. "Commander Shepard?" She tried to meet his eyes, something difficult as he kept watch around the station. "Thank you for helping us. I was able to reach some of the locals, and while they were not in the best of condition, they are alive."

"My pleasure, Doctor T'Soni. Will you be accompanying us, or staying here?" Shepard asked distractedly. Something was wrong. He could sense it. _Where's the Beacon? If not here … did that ship take it? If not … why were they here?_

"Actually, a ship is coming for me. My contract runs out next month but …" The researcher heaved a vexed sigh. "The situation here won't let me get to work until well after the contract has expired."

The turian looked at her sharply. "Doctor T'Soni? Related to Matriach Benezia?"

 _Apparently, the woman is known. Why? No. Don't think about it. You have enough mysteries without getting into Spectre business._ Shepard reached for his rifle, only to drop his hand uselessly. It had been destroyed rather thoroughly by the husk … a move he could have countered easily with a simple chunk of metal.

"My mother, actually. I haven't spoken with her in years, my work has been very time-consuming."

Shepard's head twisted around at that. _Ignore your own mother? Sad._ He ruthlessly crushed a sense of homesickness. _Work now. Grieve later. Brainless git._

"May I come with you, Commander?"

That came out of left field. "I'm sorry, what did you just say?" Shepard forced a polite expression.

The asari gave him a hopeful look. "I asked if I could come with you, to see the Beacon. Intact Prothean technology is an incredible find, and if the Geth moved it, I would like to verify its safety."

Shepard looked at Alenko with a raised eyebrow. The Lieutenant gave him a Gallic shrug. _Your call_ , his eyes seemed to say.

The turian Spectre, however, had no compunction. "I don't think that would be a good idea, Doctor T'Soni. If anything happened to you—"

Shepard considered. _Turian isn't in charge of this mission, but he does have experience. What does the asari say?_

T'Soni did not disappoint. "'Happen to me?' You mean, 'My career would be over if I was seen as responsible for scratching 'the T'Soni heir'" Her arms folded across her chest. Shepard couldn't help but notice his concentration slip with that action. "I have trained for fifty years under the best tutors available. I've also defended myself when out on digsites, from overly amorous drunkards to artifact thieves. I can handle myself, thank you very much!"

 _That's it. She's strangely timid, then confident. Why?_

Shepard glanced at the sun. Time was moving, and he needed to be. "Enough. The doc goes with us." He caught the smug grin. "But you stay close, doctor. No sense getting reckless." He pointed at the body of Jenkins, peacefully laying under the shade of a few trees. "Even the best of us can get hit by accident."

The asari followed his finger, grimacing a little at the sight. "Understood, Commander."

He walked over, kneeling respectfully. "Sorry, Jenkins. The lady needs these more than you do."

Once his hands were full, he tossed some of the equipment to the asari. Then, while no one was looking, Shepard broke off one of the fallen soldier's dog tags, slipping it into his pocket. He didn't mention it to anyone. The fallen deserved respect, and would receive it, if only in private.

[break]

The tram line was infested with geth. Without his long rifle, Shepard was forced to rely on the trick shots he'd learned during his early undercover years. Precision hits punctured weak points of the geth shields, followed by a flurried barrage by both pistols to obscure their vision. Multiple hits just in front of the eyepiece tended to make even a geth pause for a moment.

One geth popped its head up overly long, holding its assault rifle in an extended burst. The action reminded Shepard of a bodyguard stint he'd done, when boredom had threatened to destroy his mind.

Shepard took a single rapid glance, committing the positions to memory, then stuck both pistols over the edge. Muscle memory combined with the visual layout resulted in an expensive piece of scrap metal falling to the deck.

Had he been concentrating slightly less on the geth, he would have seen both the turian and Chief Williams watching him carefully.

"Shepard, 'ware right!" Alenko shouted.

Shepard knee-walked to the indicated side, and stuck his head up for a fast burst. The omni-tool was nearly fried, what with how many times he'd overridden its cool-down function but it still was able sap the geth's shields.

Alenko tossed a blue orb over his own target, a larger Destroyer model, keeping it busy with an inaccurate spray of high-velocity rounds. His orb struck a loose piece of metal, pulling it back towards himself.

Physics stipulated that the change in velocity of a moving object, combined with the added impetus of the tram's initial motion, made a significant dent in whatever was struck.

The bar, already loosened, broke free to jam itself into the geth Destroyer's shields. They had not been designed for such debris, and while successful in cushioning the initial blow, were unable to deflect it entirely. The metal severed a stabilizing component, toppling the geth unit sideways just as they passed a river.

The splash couldn't be seen, but it was the effort that counted.

On the far side of the tram, Shepard nodded to Doctor T'Soni. _Liara. She asked you to call her Liara._ The asari twitched an arm, launching a geth unit into the air. Shepard tapped his omni-tool, sapping its shields; a moment later, Chief Williams unleashed an overcharged blast from her shotgun. The hapless geth unit intercepted the shot with its chest, losing most of it in the process.

Williams tapped the heat sink, making it hiss open. "Good shot Commander."

Shepard gave her a two-fingered salute. That had been the last geth unit, he hoped. The towers of the main colony were coming into view, and he didn't want to be fighting on two fronts.

The omni-tool sparked on his wrist, the specialized software launching a warning shock into his wrist. It was smoking at the edges, so Shepard took the message carefully; death by omni-tool would be a rather ignominious end after the day's events.

The message was short and to the point. Green letters scrolled across the orange screen slowly, in the mode that denied recovery:

 _Pendragon. The Furies are moving quickly, something has them spooked. I am tracking two in Alliance space, but I suspect more are off my grid. The STG is following suit, easier to track in one case, which worries me. I suggest checking Republics/Alliance portfolios, especially for major purchases or inheritance activations. Emrys_

Shepard groaned quietly. The towers were coming up quickly, he had no time for this! He tapped the response code, then his reply:

 _Busy. Beacon stolen on Eden Prime. Geth. Rifle smashed. Will investigate as able._

The screen vanished as soon as he hit the accept. No one seemed to have noticed. Not that such a view would be taken as given; sneaky people were sneaky after all.

"Commander … we have a problem."

This time, Shepard was able to contain his dismay. _Now what? A parade of elephants in our way?_ He bit his tongue. "Understood, Lieutenant. Specify."

"Ah," Alenko rubbed the back of his head. "There appears to be a welcome party …"

Shepard nodded. The silhouette of geth units could be seen, walking around the tram platform. "Cover and prep for an assault." _Somewhat vague, but should be good enough for now._

He glanced at his allies. Alenko had moved, so his back was braced against a thick metal beam, concentrating on his omni-tool. The minifacturing plant whirred to life, producing a grenade in seconds. Omni-gel blocks, the general-purpose material found in a plethora of hardware, slid into the contraption slowly; miniature versions of the massive construction facilities found on more developed worlds.

Behind another, thinner plate of sheet metal, Chief Williams had a slightly less industrious manufacturing process going. She sat with one leg crossed, assault rifle unfolded and ready for action at her side. While the omni-tool's minifacturer was operating, its owner moved more slowly as she kept an eye on the geth lines.

Liara, on the other hand, was expressing unusual body language. It had been Shepard's experience that people hid what their face said, but forgot their greater mass often told the truth. Actors and biotics were much better at concealing their intentions, due to a higher physical awareness. Trying to read eye movements or brow twitches was pointless, so he focused on her body. Her tensed limbs screamed: _what am I doing here?_ Her loose hands, however, spoke of extensive biotic training, a constant level of preparedness.

 _Makes sense._ He grunted mentally. _Pretty girl, on digsites, has to be prepared for attack. Don't actually know if she's pretty, but she's female … ish._

"Shepard."

The turian Spectre's hissed warning brought him back to the front. He crouched, watching the warning sensors on his HUD blink red. He blinked. "There's something else there, not moving."

Nihlus grunted. "Someone else is here, this isn't geth tactics. If I see something, I'm going after them."

That gave Shepard pause. _Geth are bad enough, but this confirms it. The Spectre's statement was informative … not exactly a request for permission, more of a statement of intent._ He gave a grunt of his own; _more than he gave me on the_ Normandy _._

"Alright, but keep your eyes open." He shared a long look with the alien. For a change, he could recognize the expression; brooding worry.

The tram came to a full stop, geth on both sides. Shepard noted Alenko did not move, but Chief Williams switched her position to one affording slightly better angles. He waited, watching their flanks for several tense seconds. The clanking footsteps approached, getting closer. Shepard noted the maps positioning become fuzzy as the Geth jamming systems engaged, and gave a hand signal.

They exploded into action. Alenko and Williams each launched their grenades in a miniature bombardment, centering their spread on the HUD map's former positions, while Shepard did a quick visual check.

Nihlus lobbed a grenade of his own, landing it perfectly between two geth. It detonated in lightning bolts, shorting out the geth with minimal fuss. Something seemed to catch the turian's eye. He snarled, uncharacteristically. "I see someone Commander. Pursuing; cover me!"

Shepard pulled out his second pistol. _Ha. They told me this was a useless tactic. Never been in my situation, have they?_ One second was all he needed to settle the twin barrels, and open fire. _Seven seconds until overheat, so pause at six, resume two seconds later._ He let the barrels cool a moment, then resumed a six second barrage. _Heh, closer to six point five that time. Good._

Risking another look, he saw the back of the Spectre disappear through a maze of cargo containers. Then he was forced to duck before another geth put his eye out.

He thought he'd seen the static object, though, and it was not good. "We have husks incoming!" he warned. "Geth are falling back!"

Forewarned, and now better experienced, his squad was more than capable of holding off the melee-heavy monsters. The lack of continued geth support started tingling Shepard's paranoia, though. _Why aren't they pushing? They have superior numbers, enough to take on a full colony … what's going on?_

The fight led around a causeway, petering out as they traveled deeper into the colonial city proper. The spikes he'd seen turn humans into husks were strewn around the streets like discarded garbage. Dark colored stains permeated their surfaces, multiple items littered the ground. Shepard stooped, kneeling on one knee. _Dear God, no …._

"Commander?" Lieutenant Alenko turned back towards him, then stopped. "We should … good Lord …"

Shepard touched a small stuffed bear, lying on the ground next to one of the spikes. Its stuffing was well crushed, the fur worn down from use. It still had both of its eyes, but the thread was of different colors, indicating repairs. He looked up at the spike, now retracted, inanimate. Ashes, reminiscent of the ancient pyres, seemed gathered around the toy. Pieces of cloth, the durable sort used for manual labor garb lay in shreds next to the teddy bear … why, Shepard didn't want to know.

He looked down again, gently stroking the toy between its ears. Bits of dirt fell from its fur, some stuck by a dried brown substance. Shepard's finger shook when it encountered that.

Lightly, softly, he picked up the well-loved toy, placing it inside a carry-all detached from his back. The container reattached to his armor with a click, toy safely inside. Before moving on however, he stepped up to the spike, tapping its side lightly. Metal rang quietly under his fist, indifferent to his actions.

He stared at it with an equal lack of emotion. "That," he said quietly, "was a mistake."

Ignoring the contraption, Shepard stalked onwards. It wasn't the sauntering movements he'd been using before. It was a nearly indiscernible change, but it was there.

His squadmates respected his silence. Alenko raised one hand in a commiserating gesture. Shepard noticed, however, that both the biotic and the gunnery chief's movements were more predatory as well, mirroring Shepard's. Liara however … _Liara? Hang it all, where did she go?_ Shepard checked his map. The dot for her position was still several dozen feet back, rapidly catching up. He looked back as she trotted up to them.

"My apologies, "she said."I needed to re-do my boot strap."

Shepard pursed his lips. "Let us know next time." He glanced at the spike. _Tourists._

[break]

The trail ended a quarter-mile later, the large red dot now filling their displays. Shepard sagged inside his armor, letting the supports hold him in place. _No … just … ten kinds of negative. Denial. Refusal._

"That's a big bomb." Alenko commented.

Shepard blinked. The body of Nihlus Kryik lay on the ground at his feet; it had consumed his attention to the point where he'd missed the big mother-loving nuclear warhead! He sighed. _I am not going to like the after-action on this mission._

"Right then." He forced his anger back in check with a quick breathing exercise. "Alenko, start working on that thing. Williams, keep a lookout. Liara, do you know anything about timers?"

The asari's wide eyes gazed at the construct. "Um, only if they are a few thousand years old."

"Great." Shepard rubbed his forehead, the visor preventing his gauntlet from reaching his eyes. "Well, help Chief Williams than. I'll see what I can do with this."

He moved up next to the Lieutenant, pulling a set of lockpicks from his belt. The biotic raised his eyebrows, but didn't react otherwise.

"Looks like it's set for another ten minutes," Shepard commented. "Any dummy leads?"

Alenko twisted his hand into a bundle of wires. "Three. I'm tracing them."

Activating his own omni-tool, Shepard began a similar trace. The tool sputtered, giving sparks off his arm, then faded completely. _Finally died. Great. Perfect timing._

"Tool is out," he informed his counterpart. "Switching to manual."

"Already on the main line, follow my trace." Alenko wedged his knife into the depths of the bomb, letting the omni-tool have a better view at its innards. A faint red light wound its way through the device, following the man's wrist.

"On it. Shepard began separating the wires surrounding the indicated wire."Think this will be good or bad for the ol' resume?"

Alenko chuffed out a laugh. "Good. Saving the colony? Doing what a Spectre couldn't? Can't see a downside to this. Except for … you know."

"Yeah." Shepard disconnected several links to the explosive core. _A nuclear weapon. Good thing I have at least some training there …._ "Glad you can see the bright side of things, Lieutenant."

"Call me Kaidan. It's the least I can do for someone who's up to his elbows in the same bomb I'm working on." The biotic's dry delivery was amusing, if nothing else. _Probably what he's going for, nice._

"Fine; call me Shepard." He took a moment to test a panel, "First name's Karl, but there were five Karl's in my training unit. Only Shepard though, so it stuck."

"Right. Good to meet you Shepard. I have to ask, do you come to this place often?"

Shepard's laugh was cut off by a screaming noise from one side. He exchanged a quick look with Alenko, then pulled his arms free. "Last step, better solo anyway. Got it?"

"I have it." Kaiden selected one of Shepard's lockpick tools, a micro-fusion device, and dove back into the bomb. His muffled voice came out of its depths, metallic sounding. "Go give 'em hell for disturbing my lunch hour."

Repressing a snort, Shepard took to his heels.

Following the noise took little effort. Two voices were involved, the asari and Chief William's respectively. The latter appeared to be cursing profoundly, displaying an intimate knowledge of multiple languages. From what he could hear, the former sounded as if she were delivering instructions on how to deliver a baby … something Shepard had experienced once, to his regret.

Coming around the corner, he saw one of the most bizarre things he'd ever seen in his life. _Holy guacamole …_

Chief Williams was slowly sliding across the concrete, holding onto the asari doctor's boot with both hands. Her own legs were rising into the air, pointing directly at the Beacon, which was pulsing a green light. Green mist slowly rolled out of the machine's side, not a good operation indicator, if Shepard was any judge.

Liara caught sight of Shepard. Her panicked eyes caught onto his. "Commander! Help me!"

Her hands clutched at the smooth surface, trying to gain a grip on the surface. To his surprise, actual grooves were slowly being dragged into the surface … then he saw a faint glow at her fingertips. _Warp technique, on a very controlled level._ _Impressive_.

"Are you just gonna' stand there or are you going to help us?" Williams bellowed at him. Her face was red from exertion, and possibly embarrassment. Mech drivers were usually the immobile support, not the ones clutching for a rescue.

"Hang on Miss T'Soni, this could hurt." Shepard jogged forwards, then crouched, putting one knee on the asari's back. She hissed under the pressure, but didn't stop her efforts, to her credit. The added weight stopped her backwards slide, but didn't appear to help Williams at all.

Shepard stretched, seizing William's hands and yanked back, using his weight and superior upper body strength to wrestle her back to the ground. She moved sluggishly, as if being dragged from a mud pit. To counter it, Shepard extended the combat cleats of his armor. They shot down, digging into the concrete firmly.

A firmer stance allowed him to heave Williams out of the way, only for Liara to squawk as she began sliding backwards herself.

Shepard growled, releasing the catches inside his gloves. He strained against the pressure, digging both boots into the crumbling material, putting his back into it. One hand gripped Williams by the collar, the other seized the asari doctor's light-armored shoulder.

In a herculean effort, Shepard lifted both women while sinking to his knees. Pressure, pulling back on his body intensified; whatever the Beacon was, it wanted one of them, and with great desire it seemed. Shepard gritted his teeth. _Not again, not another if I have anything to do about it!_ The contacts inside his glove caught, and fired.

Pure white energy erupted from his palms, biotic pulses gauged for destruction this time flinging his charges forwards. He knew they would need medical attention, but they would live. The alternative was to allow them to fall prey to the … Beacon. Behind him.

The effort increased, pulling Shepard's feet upwards and out of their grooves. The forces slowly spun Shepard to face the Beacon, lifting him higher.

"Shepard!" One of the women, Williams by the sound of it, was screaming at him. "Liara! Do something! Use biotics!"

"I cannot, not so close to the Beacon," Liara's voice came back. "It might react, look at that eezo leak!"

Shepard managed a tight grin. "Good … fight …" he grunted. Hopefully, they would hear and not blame themselves for the predicament. Who would've guessed an archaic junkpile could activate like this?

Frenzied shouting bleached from his mind. An ancient pressure poked at his mind, like a headache that asked permission … without leaving time to refuse.

* * *

 _Fleeing civilians, inhuman joints bending against the mode, cries of terror. Too many to count, too many to hear. Millions of voices crying out for salvation. Nothing could be done._

 _Vengeance. Burning, powerful, vengeance. Nothing would hinder the destruction of the very stars to repay—_

He struggled against the emotion. It felt like rage incarnate, the impotent fury of a caged monster. Somehow, it called to the deeply hidden anger he'd kept securely for years, fanning its embers into life.

 _Massive ... hidden in Most Secret –_

Shepard snarled. _My head! Stay out!_

The pressure ignored him.

 _Countless … gone. The … remained still, dedicating their awesome intellect towards … that –_

Images seared across his eyes. Things that simultaneously didn't exist showed their presence with undeniable force.

 _An incredibly gigantic construct, shaped like an aquatic arthropod, reached hungrily to devour. To consume that which had been sown. Reapers of the harvest, taking that which had been planted._

A last scream of rage, primal, reaching into the very soul. Shepard found himself joining its bellow, seeking to rend that monstrous obscenity.

 _We defy you. To our dying breath._

Shepard felt something finally break against his mind, and the pressure died out. The world spun, fading into clarity; blue sky, gray concrete, blue fingers and a concerned blue face. _Maybe I'm becoming like Rembrandt? Everything in one color … bomb. Remember the bomb! Get to it!_

He felt the ground press against his side, and pushed against it, rebelling this time against his own frailties. The world spun again, forcing him to crawl. The sky darkened, driving his head towards the ground. _Bomb, must stop bomb!_

Boots rang impossibly loud. Big boots. Military boots. An overly loud voice. "Commander, we got it! It's disarmed! Shepard? Shepard!"

 _Safe_. Shepard collapsed, finally giving in to the swirling gray. It claimed him.

* * *

 **A/N: This particular chapter took me almost 2 months to write, and had a full rewrite for the last half. I've been going progressively off canon, but trying to stay close enough to be familiar; something that is changing a bit as the story continues.**

 **I'd like to take this moment to give a shout-out to another work I have collaborated with: _Dawn of Titans._ It's a Mass Effect/Endwar crossover fic, co-written by F13D, Andotrota and myself. Sorry I can't put in a hyperlink here, but has changed the system a little since I started writing, over a year ago now ... wow.**

 **Special note: The name Lieutenant Jørgensen is named for Morgan L** **øuise** **Jørgensen, the protagonist of Feathers in the Night, by Schadenfreude95, and used with permission by the same. Hope to see more from this author :)**

 **Thank you for your kind attention. Until next time!**


	4. Recovery

_Nightmares are … interesting things. They reveal what is on our mind; not just the surface thoughts, but the fears we hide from everyone, including ourselves._

 _As an interesting side note, I have learned that different species suffer different forms of nightmare. Asari, for example, suffer from 'night terrors' and multiple forms of that when they link minds as Maidens or Matrons. However, in the Matron stage, they begin to learn rather impressive forms of mind control, sufficient to quell most debilitating thoughts. Particularly prodigious asari in the Maiden phase are also capable of such feats, but as always, there is a cost: the longer the fear is kept at bay, the greater the reaction when the walls are breached._ _Some asari are able to keep their focus indefinitely_ _… others … not as well._ _My friend Serena has told me she suffers what she calls 'attacks' almost solely after a particularly moving event._

 _On the other hand, the drell do not dream. Often, they have 'lucid dreams,' whereby they review events, contemplate problems, or just think. I believe that's nature's way of compensating for their solipsism tendencies. It takes years of practice to acquire the mental discipline needed to resist slipping into living memories; it is fortunate that tendency arises after puberty, giving their youth time to learn the practice. It should be noted however, that extreme conditions or particularly unsuitable individuals can suborn that training._

 _Humans, however, have the worst of both worlds. We cannot stop from having dreams and nightmares, and we cannot recall them accurately enough to blunt their effectiveness. So, we learn. We fear the darkness, turn from the shadows, and create a blazing fire to drive away the terror. That, in my opinion, is what makes us such a formidable military power, easily the equal to either the asari or the drell._

 _Now the krogan … that's a different story._

 _Dr. Arnold Pavenmeyer_

 _~Project Ragnorak Files_

* * *

Location: Redacted

Year: Redacted

 _"Hold 'im down!" The method of speaking was brutish, efficient._

 _A different voice answered, "I can't! 'e's too strong!"_

 _Loud chuckling met that answer. It sounded like rocks being thrown into a pipe. If a sensation of greed and carelessness could be personified, it would have been embodied by that growling noise. "Good. Strong 'un like 'im will fetch a good price. Almost done here."_

 _More struggles. One hand free, arm ripping loose from the restraints._

 _"We are ready now. Put them in." A different voice, more cultured, if a bit cold. He could feel fingers around his ears, pulling a metal band tightly across the forehead. Ice stabbed into his temples, lightning flashing across his eyes without the afterimage._

 _Interminable silence. Blackness. An occasional feeling of movement, until something started patting his side._

 _"Karl? Can you hear me? Karl!" a shrill voice screamed._

 _He_ _fought the muzzy feeling. His sister needed help; nothing would stop him from giving it._

 _"Feisty little lady, ain't she?" Rock Voice again._

 _"Dressed like that? She's no lady." Minion Voice answered._

 _"I'll kill you!" A female voice, familiar, screamed._

 _Red haze filtered over the blackness. Shepard felt wires cut into his hand, loosening with every pull until his arm was free._

 _A cry of pain. No – 'cry' indicated a burst of air being released. This was an ongoing roar of agony, coupled with the sound of meat slapping the ground. He could hear cursing somewhere in the sound, promises of vengeance tenfold._

 _"No! You heard the boss, no damage! It's hard enough to get these cretins alive, we don't need 'em damaged!" Rock Voice seemed panicked._

 _Shepard responded by using his free arm to tear at the hot metal searing against his head. Clamps fell apart under his fingers, lifting the blackness. Intense pain throbbed_ _at his temples, but that could wait._

 _"Get her – ha! Take that you little –"_

 _The weird wires tugged strangely once, then fell from his fingertips. The other arm was free, and he could see his feet, a simple latch system easily bypassed. Surgery tools were at his side, highly potent, if used right._

 _"Karl! Help me! Hel –" Katrina's voice choked._

 _Shepard freed his legs, adrenaline pumping freely. The scalpel gleamed in one hand, giving confidence like no sword he'd ever made. He yanked his legs back, kneeling on the table to see. A heavyset batarian was leaning over another table, fist rising and falling as choking sounds came from under his other arm. A second figure waved his hands at the first, but from a safe distance._

 _The red haze darkened and grew, creating a tunnel vision effect. All Shepard could see was the hand rising towards him, but aimed at family. He grabbed it, taking aim with the scalpel –_

* * *

 _Normandy_ SR-1

Present: June 12, 2183, AD

"Doctor! Doctor Chakwas! He's waking up!"

Shepard felt as if a mob of elcor had held a spiked-shoe tap dance competition inside his skull. The sensation was not quite as soothing. His arms felt heavy— _wait, not heavy, tied. Restrained._

Fear mixed with fury rushed through his mind. _They won't get me again!_ Memories of hard heat flew through his mind, a burning sensation that made his temples burn.

The restraints produced for med-bays on all Alliance-supported centers were supplied by the lowest bidder, as was most mass-produced resources. The requirements for their manufacture were plentiful, but boiled down to be first: strong enough to hold a krogan, and second: adaptable to any species.

What was literally specified in the requirements was a need to restrain human males at the peak of their physical prowess. Somehow, a human male raised in a high-gravity environment during his most formative years, given gene optimization after his own father had already undergone gene therapy, and heavily trained in the art of escape hadn't made the list.

Shepard awoke, bellowing and heaving against the restraints. Instinct made him fold the metallic bracelets against themselves, angling their pressure points. The restraints snapped at the joints, never designed for that much force on such a small setting. He bolted to his feet, crouching on his toes, scanning the room for threats. Seeing the familiar _Normandy_ medbay relaxed his stance visibly. Seeing a woman in Alliance fatigues lowered his stress levels further, although her startled body posture was a bit alarming.

His heart rate started to go back up when he realized couldn't remember who the woman was. Frantically, he began running through his memory. Assorted facts flitted through his mind. _Tan skin, black hair. Medium height, athletic figure; works out upper body quite a bit. Wait, the video. Eden Prime, that's …_ "Chief Williams. Good to see you."

"Ah, yeah." her eyes flicked downwards appreciatively. "You look good too." A blush started on her face. "I mean, you're looking better, sir. Ah, are you … feeling all right?"

Shepard glanced down. _Feet. Legs. Stomach. Hey, decent abdominals;_ he studied the scars on his torso, raised white lines that snaked across his body. _Kind of ugly, but nothing to be embarrassed about … oh._ "Forgive me, I didn't think to check for a shirt." He spotted a standard issue undershirt folded neatly on a nearby bed. It slipped over his head easily.

"Yeah, what was that?" Williams leaned against the wall, folding her arms. "I don't know anyone that just jumps up and starts breaking the infirmary." The woman started looking thoughtful. "Well, there was that one guy, kept trying to ask me out, but he was pretty crazy."

Chuckling, Shepard reached for his wrist. He paused, not feeling the transparent bracelet that held his omni-tool. "Chief? Would you happen to know—"

He was interrupted by the familiar gray-haired professional. Immediately, he went on alert, positioning himself with a clearer line of sight. "Doctor Chakwas, I presume?"

She laughed. "Indeed, Commander. I must admit, you had me worried there. I should have known you wouldn't have let something as mundane as an ancient piece of prothean technology break you." Documents scrolled upwards across the screen on her desk moniter. "You had unusually high activity in the alpha wave patterns, similar to what I've seen involving extremely vivid dreams," she commented. "A few keys tapped, "You also had elevated blood pressure, heat burns on your right arm …"

"About that—" Shepard attempted.

The doctor barreled on. "Your body chemistry was … wonky," she held up two fingers in a half air-quote. Her other hand twitched on the data pad, mimicking its partner. "Fortunately, I have your last physical on file, and even though it's been a long time," Chakwas's eyes bored into his, eyebrow raised, "I was able to determine your normal levels."

Shepard winced. "I've been a little busy. Getting back to my—"

Hissing sounds, the Infirmary doors opening, interrupted him yet again, heralding a new participant in the situation. Captain David Anderson, N7 Plus operative, decorated officer of Shanxi, and master of the _Normandy_ strode into the room as if he owned it. His presence practically vibrated urgency, emphasized when he leaned on a nearby tray.

"How is the Commander, Doctor?" He cut directly to the heart of the matter. "Joker managed to delay our approach, but we will be docking within a few hours. Can he fight?"

The doctor raised an eyebrow. "I was just getting to that, Captain." She looked at his hands meaningfully, until Anderson removed them from a surgery table. Ultraviolet cleansers scrubbed its surface as soon as his fingers left their surface. "You're welcome to listen in if you want."

The captain shifted to a parade rest. "Please continue, doctor." His gaze shifted to Shepard, pausing once on the silent woman near the door. "Chief Williams and Lieutenant Alenko gave me their report, but I need to hear your end."

Nodding, Shepard looked back to the doctor.

Taking that as her cue, Chakwas tapped her datapad once more. "Essentially, your body looked as if it had gone through an energy discharge, similar to some lightning strike cases I've seen. Your nervous system was rapid-firing, sending you into convulsions." She gave Shepard an apologetic look, "So I ordered restraints. That calmed down after a few minutes, but there were repeating occurrences. After you gave my orderly a concussion and broke her arm," her apology turned into a glare, "I opted to leave the restraints on until you woke up."

 _I gave someone a concussion, while asleep?_ Shepard's eyebrows went up. _That's not going to help my reputation any._ "So what can you tell me then, am I back to normal overall?"

Chakwas pursed her lips. "I find myself unable to determine any reason to keep you here," she admitted grudgingly. "Although my personal opinion is that you should go through a complete series of scans."

Anderson stepped forward. "I agree, but we don't have time." He looked at the doctor. ""I need a few moments alone with him, Doctor."

She moved towards the door in the back. "Certainly. I have some paperwork to finish."

The captain waited while the doctor moved into the back. Chief Williams had already left at some point, _Getting slow Shepard. When did she leave?_ Anderson motioned for Shepard to sit, watching him carefully. "How are you feeling, Shepard?"

Shepard winced, massaging his temples with one hand. "Been better. I lost a good man down there."

Anderson sighed. "Unfortunate. He knew the risks, although I'm sorry to see it happened at all." His gaze sharpened, although there was sympathy visible. "I wish there was more time for this. What happened?"

Somewhat irritably, Shepard frowned. "What do you know so far?"

"I sent my best officer to accompany a high-ranking representative of the most powerful force in the galaxy, and that representative is now toes up. Chief Williams and Lieutenant Alenko told me about the tram station and the missing Beacon, but starting from the point you began working with that bomb is a little fuzzy. Williams mentioned you hauled her out of the way, but couldn't say much otherwise."

"Yeah." Shepard rubbed his eyes. "Short version, Alenko and I were disarming that bomb, when we heard screams. Williams and Doctor T'Soni were getting pulled into that Beacon thing, and …" He shrugged. "I pulled them out."

Shepard reached for his omni-tool again, scowling when he didn't find it. "Any chance you could tell me where my omni-tool is?"

The look he received was not encouraging. "Fried. Doctor Chakwas had to practically operate to get it off. I know if I've said it once, I've said it a hundred times, Shepard. Be careful! I don't know where you get some of that tech, but even you have to be a little more cautious sometimes."

Shepard shook off the warning. "The parts?"

"Over here." Anderson pulled a clear plastic sack from his pocket. Clouded chunks of synthetic material clinked inside. "I didn't paw through it, had to keep one of the techies down in the engineering level from absconding with it, young Caswell Hudson. Might want to keep an eye on him. Continue."

Shepard's fingers twitched reflexively. "Not sure where that bomb came from, but I suspect it was a thermonuclear warhead, H-class or better. Not sure where the Geth got it from, though."

His mentor grimaced. "I did some research after Williams told me. The hardware was mostly Alliance, but the nuclear materials were salarian manufacture. Military grade."

Shepard twitched. "Alliance hardware? Either we have a traitor, or someone wanted to frame us." He thought for a moment. "That's not going to go over well," he muttered.

"No, it won't," Anderson agreed feelingly. His gaze softened. "What about those convulsions, Shepard? Anything you can tell me?"

Shepard avoided the captain's gaze. "It's nothing," he muttered. "You'd think it silly."

An amused snort brought his attention back up. "After all we've been through?" Anderson reached over, tapping Shepard's left arm lightly. "Remember the Giant Rat of Sumatra incident? Or the Imperial blockade runner over in the Theta-Gamma system? Anything after that should be small potatoes, right?"

His voice grew quieter, more worried as Shepard continued to avoid his gaze. "Right?"

Heaving a breath, Shepard considered the matter. _Tell him, and risk getting barred, Spectre status and the whole nine yards. Don't tell him, and leave him wondering, risking friendship if it goes on long enough. Friendship, or job?_ His mind took the next logical step. _Join for family, stay for friendship?_

Looking back, Shepard drew one more lung full before taking the plunge. "I don't know where this came from, but I was having nightmares. Not the usual type, but nightmares. Things that get turned into legend because the truth is too brutal for people to hear."

Eyebrows rose on the dark-skinned man. It was his only reaction.

"I could see … things." he continued. "Torture. Pain." Shepard barely kept control as he remembered. "Worse than slavers." He stopped watching Anderson's face. There was no key, guiding him for the last part. _Get on with it._

"The overall feeling was … desperate. Like impotence and fear made flesh" Shepard stopped again, annoyed at having to blink away tears. He raised a wrist to swipe at the moisture collecting under his eyes. "Disaster is a very short word for something of that magnitude. Apocalypse might be better."

Anderson sat like a statue, unmoving while Shepard regained control. Then he spoke. "I won't lie to you. that sounds like something your subconscious would cook up after a high-stress situation."

He raised one hand as Shepard snorted. "Hear me out, I only said that's what it sounds like." His eyes narrowed, "But, I did some research on Prothean Beacon recoveries, thanks to that helpful asari I couldn't convince to come along."

Shepard looked up. "Doctor T'Soni got out okay?"

"She actually left on an asari trader. It stopped by just before we hauled you up from the military hospital on Eden Prime." Anderson half-smiled. "She seemed quite interested in what you had to say, wouldn't leave your side for hours at a time."

Shepard paused for a moment, "Don't think I didn't see that topic shift. You were saying?"

Giving him a put-upon look, Anderson continued. "Apparently, when functional prothean technology is uncovered, a highly strict recovery program is engaged." He raised one hand, ticking points off his fingers. "First, the Council is notified by the Ancient Technologies Division; apparently a combination of salarian special forces and God only knows what else. They supposedly have a monitoring system second only to the STG …" he gave Shepard a pained look, "although that honor seems to be handed around a lot."

Shaking himself, Anderson raised his hand again. "Apparently, true prothean relics are so rarely discovered that the Council isn't bothered too often. When such an event occurs, an overpowered force is sent to recover the reported object, usually in proportion to the size of the object being recovered."

Shepard rolled his eyes. "I can just imagine an entire turian fleet being called out for some prothean toothbrush." He paused. "Presuming they used toothbrushes."

Anderson snorted before holding up another digit. "Then, the technology is brought back to an appropriate facility for study. Currently, that's a toss-up between the Salarian research facilities on Gielinor, and the asari research center out on Potash." His brow furrowed thoughtfully. "Actually, until the last century or so, the only place deemed suitable for holding Prothean technology has been an asari planet, which makes sense I suppose. They've had the most time to study prothean tech." His tone darkened, like a woodwind growling in its depths. "Although I've had my suspicions about that lately."

"Hmmm." Shepard murmured in response. _He knows more than he's saying … better leave that one for now._ "But what does that have to do with my headache?"

"Hm? Oh, yes. That." Anderson folded his hands, fixing Shepard with a stern look. "There are only six recorded instances where a full-fledged Beacon has been discovered, three activated. The most notable ones include the first, which apparently was on Thessia's primary moon, discovered by the Asari. The third was discovered by turians, but it was nearly destroyed in a mining accident. The fourth," he lowered his voice, "was actually found by a salarian explorer team in Hegemony territory. Apparently the Beacon was on the edge of Batarian space, and removed before the Hegemony could get their hands on it. You have to read between the lines, but that's the gist."

Shepard chortled, then winced, clutching his head. "Ah … ow. Anderson. Please, no loud noises, alright?"

The older man didn't react. "Each of those three Beacons were activated in the same way Alenko and Williams reported seeing you interact with the one on Eden Prime. One individual got too close, and was lifted into the air … into a stone ceiling in the turian situation. In any case, it involved physical manipulation, and some form of … organic data transfer."

"That's odd." Shepard mused. "Why didn't the Beacon on Eden Prime grab the scientists? You'd think so many people would have triggered a reaction."

When Anderson didn't go on, Shepard began to grow wary. "What aren't you telling me?"

"Again, this is just what the notes tell me," Anderson avoided Shepard's eyes. "Hmm … I am sorry, but ... there is no easy way to broach this." He looked up. "Each individual went insane after a few days. Two of the three complained about nightmares, almost exactly what you talked about, becoming progressively worse as time went on. The third went mad a few minutes after waking up, the other two lost coherence within a week."

Shepard blinked, scanning his mind for traces of madness. _What was it Chesterton said? 'A madman hasn't lost all reason; he has lost everything but reason?' Logical to assume I would follow the same trend._

He burrowed deeper, trying to examine his memories. _How am I supposed to know if I'm insane? If I were, I'd be convinced that I wasn't. If I wasn't, I'd probably be equally believing that I were … so, maybe?_

Abandoning his thoughts for the moment, he sought Anderson's eyes. "Sorry, Captain. I appear to remain in full control of my faculties."

The man chuckled. "No apology necessary, Shepard." He turned serious once more. "I know you've kept things fairly low-key, but we may need to do a full physical. The Council can't force you to do anything, but we may want to get the jump on them."

Shepard, however, had been thinking. "What happened to the other two? You said there were six, but you only mentioned three, if we're including the one on Eden Prime as one of the six."

"I wondered if you would remember those." Anderson looked thoughtful. "The other three were discovered in fairly normal fashion, by the elcor, volus and hanar. They were extracted to a research facility, and essentially never heard from again." He raised a knowing eyebrow at Shepard before turning to his omni-tool. "I'm sending you the information Doctor T'Soni gave me. It's interesting reading, particularly," his eyebrows lifted again, "if you read between the lines."

"I'll read that as soon as I get to a terminal." Shepard snorted. "I have a backup in my locker, if I ever get there." He snorted before changing the subject. "I saw Williams here, you gave her a position?"

"Yes. Alenko gave me a rundown on her behavior. You agree?" Anderson answered.

He had to think for a moment; as XO of the _Normandy_ , it was a fair question. He would be in charge of monitoring the squad and crew interaction, and ostensibly had the best read on how personnel dynamics operated. "She did well in a trying situation, facing unfamiliar opponents. Plus," Shepard gave his superior a meaningful look, "as I may have mentioned, we appear to be lacking in the heavier armor categories."

"I know. When we reach the Citadel, I've requisitioned a full loadout for the _Normandy_. I have the full setup. Power armor, a Mako, and an extra Nightstalker outfit for you." Anderson looked at his omni-tool. "Think about what I said." His eyes locked onto Shepard's. "All of it. I have to get back to it. Glad to have you back, Shepard." He patted the Commander's shoulder once.

"Sir?" Shepard stopped the Captain's movement. "About Nihlus."

Anderson sighed. "I know, Shepard. He's dead. Apparently killed by Saren, according to a technician that was hiding in the camera room."

Shepard straightened, "I know, sir. But you know what is going to happen, especially with the Alliance based hardware in that bomb. Am I going to get thrown under the bus for him?"

The older man glared. "I'm behind you, Shepard. You told him what could happen, and I'll stand by the decision all the way." He relented with a small shrug. "Besides, Udina is your friend, not mine. He might protect you, but then, he might not."

Mood lightened, Shepard gave his friend a sardonic look. "He may be a politician, but we've gotten a lot done over the years. He's got my back."

"If you say so." Anderson gave Shepard a measuring look, then headed for the door.

Shepard watched his CO leave. The doctor seemed busy in the back room, so he decided to not bother her. The rest of his casual garb was waiting for him,

Outside the infirmary door, he caught sight of Chief Williams, easily recognizable in her fatigues. Most of the crew on this level wore navy blues, but the marines tended to keep their traditional clothing. The thought almost made him smile, but he withstood the urge. He had a reputation to maintain after all.

"Hey there Skipper," the cheerful brunette greeted him with a wide grin. She was evidently very happy about her lot in life.

"Greetings," he returned politely. "Welcome aboard the _Normandy_." While polite, he refrained from the enthusiastic response other commanders might have done.

"Thanks," she looked a little taken aback It was a typical reaction to his demeanor, especially to the newcomers.

"I heard you've been added to the _Normandy's_ marine complement. Congratulations." It hurt, watching her eyes change from cheerfully optimistic to neutral interest. _Can't let it bother you, Shepard. If she earns a place, she'll learn soon enough. Look at what happened to Jenkins … odds are I'll be thrown off the ship when we hit the Citadel anyway._

"Yeah, my eyes almost bugged out when I saw the paperwork." The smile was back in William's voice. "I have to say, you got some of the hottest names on board. Alenko? He's practically a legend back on Jump Zero. Joker? Best pilot bar none. " She looked down suddenly, "Although if you tell him I said that, I'll have to break both your legs."

Shepard glanced back, moving casually until the gunnery chief was between him and the Infirmary. "Believe me, the _Normandy_ takes on only the best." He looked directly into her eyes, trying to convey his seriousness without actually revealing anything. "If you are here, it's because you earned the position."

Her shoulders lowered slightly as something relaxed. Something rather important if he was any judge. "Thank you sir … that – that means a lot, coming from you."

Internally, he raised an eyebrow. _Not as starstruck as Jenkins, but there's still something going between those ears ... something Bah, time enough for playing psychologist later._ "I assume they gave you a locker?" He started moving again, leading the way back around to the elevator.

"Yeah, I have a new locker. Paint smells fresh it's so new." She caught his look. "No, it wasn't the one Jenkins had." She suddenly rooted around a pocket. "By the way, this fell out of your pocket when we got you in the hospital." The dog tag slipped into Shepard's hand. He stared at it, tentatively rubbing his thumb over the raised surface.

"Thank you," he murmured. The metal felt cold in his hand. "I'd wondered what happened to this." Shepard continued walking on automatic, recalling as much as he could about the enthusiastic Corporal. The way he always popped back after any setback, how he could laugh at himself despite embarrassment. Why nothing ever got him down, until he discovered the true pain of losing family … that was something no one should suffer.

"Did Corporal Jenkins's effects –?" Shepard let the question hang, before tripping over an unfamiliar pair of boots.

"Whoa, careful Skipper." Williams caught his arm, steadying him. She waited until he'd recovered. "Yeah, Alenko took care of his things. Did you know he had a recruitment poster with your picture on it?"

Shepard raised both eyebrows.

"Yeah," she laughed, a soothing sound in the ship of war. "He even had an autograph book with a page set out for your signature."

He tried to laugh, but that was too much. Young Jenkins, full of life, under his charge … gone. Instead, he switched the subject. "Listen, Williams, I talked with the Captain. We're resupplying on the Citadel. You should have a new set of armor coming in when we do; did you have anything special in mind?"

Her eyes lit up. "I can do a full specs loadout? You're serious?"

Shepard gestured, indicating the entire hull of the ship. "As Commander of the _Normandy_ , most requisition orders are countersigned by myself. Get the catalogue from the quartermaster and set up anything you want." He gave her a serious look. "I don't know what's going on in the next few days, but I can't believe it's going to be pretty. Get the best, anything you think we might need for any combat situation."

He paused. The tanned woman was practically salivating, a shiny look in her eyes. "Besides, I believe I owe you for carrying my sorry butt back to civilization." _And a little something for confusion._ Throwing a wink, he walked to the emergency hatch, keying in the manual code for entrance. Just as he slid into the shaft, cheerfully ignoring her questioning look, he heard the Infirmary doors open, and smiled.

* * *

"Hey Commander." The dark-haired Canadian almost surprised Shepard in the Mess an hour later. "Looking better."

"Thank you," he responded. "A shower does wonders for making you feel human again, no?"

The Major laughed. "Indeed it does, although I would have to wonder if the asari would agree."

Shepard lowered one shoulder. "I would assume so. Being human is more of a state of mind, I would say, aided by cultural upbringing. We can sometimes feel 'blue' can we not?" He resisted the urge to send the other man a sly smirk. "If we can feel that, there's no reason why asari can't feel 'pink.'"

A voice from overhead interrupted them _. "All hands, this is your pilot speaking. We will be making the final Relay jump in two minutes. Thank you for flying Alliance Airlines, and if you have any complaints, please give them to the lowest ranking officer you can find."_

"Joker." Alenko rolled his eyes expressively. "He's going to get himself fired someday."

Shepard shrugged again. _I doubt it. Someone as good as his record says probably gets a lot of leeway._

"Well, I got to get up for the Relay transfer. Two minds and all that." The biotic made a cursory gesture before leaving.

Sighing, Shepard turned back to his datapad. Reports had piled up, despite the best efforts of Pressley and Anderson; some things could be done only by the First Officer.

The omni-tool replacement buzzed on his wrist. It gave the little vibration saved for unique situations ... unless he was imagining it again. That was part of the trouble with omni-tools, after a while, you grew to feel they buzzed when they did not, or vice versa. It was a medical finding, but one he had not studied in any depth.

Sighing, he tapped the opening switch. It was a highly unique tool, perhaps not as advanced as one of the Savant line, but still very useful. Given his preferred method of combat, it had to be. _Wonder what the old wizard has for me now._ Shepard groaned resignedly. His fingers danced, tapping in the code.

The response flowed into the view-screen, the colors muted without the aid of his visor. Shepard tapped it into place, clicking it down from its rest position above one eye, and the letters brightened as the visual aid darkened.

 _Pendragon:_

 _Finally heard what happened, I can't exactly blame you for what happened, but that Beacon was worth more than five Normandy's combined. Perhaps that and all of the Seventh Fleet, and yes I know how much a Super Battleship costs._

 _Anyway. We still need to follow up on the Furies progress. ExoGeni and Sirta are making some strange moves: bio-analysis teams to Feros, a rather unusual Stalking Horse gambit for a salarian research firm; I can do only so much from here. Also, three CFO's have undergone serious accidents. One or two is interesting, but three in the same week? No coincidence._

 _You won't be able to do anything for the next twenty-four hours, Eden Prime saw to that. But as soon as you can, find out everything possible. I don't like this._

 _Emrys_

The message deleted itself in a showy blast of virtual sparks, tinted like the rest of the message to be of reduced visibility. That amused Shepard, to a certain extent; the sparks were just the sender showing off, part of a visual idea lifted from the quarians. With their tinted visors, it was like wearing filters all the time. The race had grown accustomed to using message systems that were hard to see by unfiltered vision.

The encryptions themselves were foreign to Shepard. All he knew was that a special circuit, sent through an annoyingly complex series of couriers, had to be soldered directly into his omni-tool. Otherwise, the messages would ignore his device as unauthorized … somehow.

He shrugged, and typed out a response.

 _Emrys:_

 _Pulling it together right now. Minor headache, but nothing more. I'm expecting fluctuations in the Citadel Exchange within a few hours, this might be a good opportunity to compare trading patterns, particularly naked shorts. If there are an unusual number of external buyers for Alliance businesses, we may have a problem._

 _I'm sending authorization for my agent on Mindoir to set up purchases. If a few mines begin reporting 'surplus' production, it might be a little easier to track the sales._

 _Pendragon_

Shepard sent the message, then quickly sent a follow up to Mindoir. There were very few people he trusted completely, but at least there were a few.

The room had emptied as he worked, leaving him in relative solitary. Of course, a navy ship had no true isolated regions; everything had a place to be, and every place had a purpose.

In the reduced lighting, Shepard could see a little less easily than he had earlier, but it felt soothing. Shadows were friendly ever since he'd been a child, listening to the sole music station on Mindoir.

Buoyed once again by the happy memories, Shepard returned to the armory on the same floor as the cargo/launch bay. He headed to his locker, keying the code access.

Marines, checking their own armaments, gave him a friendly nod, Chief Williams among them. Both Alpha and Bravo squads had experienced no casualties on Eden Prime, though it had come close. Apparently, quarians could carry a grudge, and had a lot of repressed anger over the geth.

"You did good, Commander," one of the marines approached his locker. "The gun-cam said you took down over a dozen of those greasy piles of junk. Sorry about Jenkins, he was a good man on the jets."

Caught somewhat off guard, Shepard made a quick visual check. He couldn't recognize the face, but … _no rank, light hair, green eyes._ "Thank you, Nicholson." Shepard accepted the outstretched hand, shaking it once, briefly. "Alpha squad did very well, I just checked the reports." He smiled politely, not letting it stray a fraction of a centimeter beyond the minimal requirement. "My apologies for not getting to them soon enough."

The shorter man chuckled. "No worries, Commander. I signed up to be a grunt on a boat, not a ground-pounder like Williams there."

Shepard caught a flinch from Williams before she responded with something marines presumed to be witty in return. Internally, he frowned. _Something behind that now, wonder what?_ The alarm function in his omni-tool hummed slightly, reminding him of his purpose in the cargo bay. _Ah, yes. Rearming._

"Chief Williams," he called, interrupting the spirited – discussion – going on.

The dark haired woman faced him. "Sir?"

"At ease Williams," Shepard watched her eyes, relaxing slightly as she did. "The Captain wants the ground squad for the Beacon on hand when we talk to Representative Udina. ETA is around an hour, but I'd prefer to have full armor before then."

She nodded. "Yes sir. Ah …" she glanced at the locker, "I have a medium Phoenix set from Eden Prime I can use, but it's not up for parade level yet." She held up one arm, barring Nicholson from speaking, "I lost a bet, long story."

Shepard considered the statement. _She has a point, better appearance would make a better impression_. _The Council certainly appears to place a large emphasis on first impressions and all that. But Alenko doesn't have time to brush his set up …_ a strangely apropos idea came to mind. _Udina would be proud._ The thought almost made him break his composure.

"Private Nicholson." He turned, addressing the marine. Waiting until he had the marine's full attention, Shepard continued, "I need to have Squad Prime fit for parade duty within the hour. You and Alpha squad will help Miss Williams get her armor ready. Notify Lieutenant Jørgensenthat a few bodies from Bravo squad to prep Major Alenko's armor as well. Understood?"

The deep-chested soldier saluted. "Sir, yes sir! Spit 'n shine duty loud and clear, sir!"

Shepard gave the irreverent man a somewhat cool look, resuming his own preparations. His Nightstalker armor had needed a full recalibration after the Beacon interference, with some of the parts requiring outright replacement; a difficult task considering the secretive nature of pseudo-biotics technology.

While Captain Anderson had already examined the armor, Shepard took a little extra time checking out his own equipment, a habit that had served him well. The bulges in the external plating felt jagged, rough, despite their smooth appearance _. Warp damage_ , Shepard fingered the material carefully. _Always a little luck involved whenever biotics are involved … I suppose that's why they reserve this stuff for the Fives and up._

Fortunately, there was a perfectly serviceable Explorer scout armor backup set available. Its gray surface was easily repainted in his customary matte black, the N7 design stenciled on the left pectorals onward. There was some difficulty locating the ultraviolet-reflective material for his Plus status indication, but the quartermaster, as most of his kind.

The end result felt lighter than his usual load out, forcing him to take greater care in his movements. Clumsiness did not aid him in this process; it was something he could conceal most of the time, but new areas were always a little tricky. Keeping that in mind, Shepard started up the long trek to the cockpit, intending to watch the Citadel approach _. Funny how I can work just fine in combat, but not in normal situations._ He chuckled silently, passing a flight officer as she retreated from the CIC. _A psychologist would have a field day with me. Maybe I could do that when I retire?_ The thought rolled pleasantly around his mind. _Mmm, retirement. Maybe someday._ He allowed the happy thought to simmer pleasantly before reluctantly pushing it into the darker regions. _Bah, who am I kidding?_ He squeezed past another sensors officer, finally reaching his destination. _I'll die with my boots on._

To his surprise, Chief Williams was already present, gazing out the window with a smile on her face. He followed her gaze, witnessing the last flickers of Relay travel die around the Normandy. It was so … innocent, something he'd never expected from the battle-hardened marine on Eden Prime's surface.

He turned away, reluctant to interrupt the scene. Instead he observed the approach, admiring the deft manner in which the pilot was bringing them in. Autopilots could do it quite easily, but Shepard preferred a more human touch; fortunately, Flight Officer Moreau seemed to agree.

"Look at the size of that thing!" Chief William's exclamation drew his attention. She was pointing at the _Destiny Ascension_ , apparently marveling at the asari dreadnought.

"Eh, it's not that big." The pilot dismissed the massive vessel with a sneer. "They make 'em better back home."

"Are you kidding?" Ashley laughed incredulously. "It's as big as two Martel class battleships!"

"Yeah, well, size doesn't count for much." Joker fired back. He patted the panel almost lovingly, "Give me something to dance with, and all the size in the galaxy'll be worthless."

"A bit touchy?" Williams snarked back at him.

Shepard noticed Major Alenko quietly working at the co-pilot's seat. _Normally_ , he thought, _that role goes to young Ms. Chase. Is she off duty?_ Even though VI's took care of inbound flights most of the time, regulations still required two pilots in the cockpit. Thinking hard, Shepard thought he remembered that bit of history … _some happenstance about a volus mega-freighter that had locked onto the landing signal for a turian cruiser? No matter._

Assuming a slightly more professional mien, Joker tapped his board. "Captain, ETA fifteen minutes. If you want Alenko with you, could you get my relief pilot up here? I could handle it myself, but –"

 _"Flight Lieutenant Emerson is on his way up. After we dock, take us to a full shut-down; I want the_ Normandy _given a complete check."_ Captain Anderson's voice boomed back through the system.

Shepard nodded silently. Engineer Adams had sent in a warning about stress in the reactor's shielding. Combat conditions would add to that damage, which meant full battle preparations required a possible re-working. He winced as another thought struck him. _We need more engineers aboard. Classified hardware, special construction … now I remember why I hate prototype technology. Again._

He walked back to the airlock, flipping out one of the seats. On occasion, scrubbing atmospheric insertions took longer than five minutes, and people got tired of standing.

The omni-tool buzzed with another incoming message. Shepard sighed, opening its interface. The orange screen made the white and grey walls gain a nauseating tint, but it didn't bother him by now. Color schemes were, in the end, just another sensation, which in turn was a perception of the mind. The mind could be controlled, like the body.

One look at the opened window, and he simply shut down the messaging service. It was as if a digital horde had descended on his inbox, filling its innards with trivial bits of unneeded information. _Didn't I just go through everything a few minutes ago?_ He keyed the music function, snorting in disgust.

Ten minutes later, he opened his eyes as the _Normandy's_ airlock thunked into the Citadel docks. Shepard frowned at the interruption. _Blasted couplers. I don't know what it is, but the clamps at this station always_ _throw a skip in my music track when we dock. Why can't they upgrade to pneumatic models?_ He deactivated the music player, noticing for the first time that both Williams and Alenko were present. Both were standing at a respectful distance, conversing quietly.

He straightened, tapping his greaves with one arm to warn them. Before anyone could talk, Captain Anderson came in the shipside doors, all business.

Shepard made the mental shift to his public face. His back straightened, just a hair less stiff than a true military posture, while letting a slow grin flit around the edge of his mouth. Neither of the two soldiers witnessed the change, but Anderson gave him a sober nod of approval.

"Alenko, Williams," the captain shouldered his way to the front. "Shepard and I will take point. Remember, you're on Council territory; as soon as your boots leave the airlock you are on their ground. Understood?"

"Sir, yes sir!" Williams saluted. Alenko copied her motion, if not the vocal support.

Inwardly, Shepard smiled. With the two professional soldiers freshly reminded of their position, he and Anderson would appear relaxed by comparison. In a public discussion, such confidence held power, granting a psychological advantage. _That's Anderson, always looking for an edge._

The doors hissed open, letting the dry air of the Citadel enter the airlock. Shepard sniffed it dubiously; apparently, Council worlds used flying transports that used a heavy amount of hydrogen fuel, primarily taken from distillation methods. In a space station, the amount of latent humidity was low already, but the vehicles drove even that level down.

A full squad in Alliance blues met them at the doors, turning to escort them to the C-Sec elevator. Shepard tensed for a moment, seeing a large body of armed men waiting, but he relaxed once more at the familiar sight of Ambassador Udina. The large mob of people beyond the familiar sight made him tense again; crowds were one thing he'd tried to avoid whenever possible.

"Shepard!" The balding politician raised an arm in greeting. "Good to see you again!" He spun in place, "Anderson, glad you could make it!" He squinted nearsightedly around their shoulders. "Did you bring your _entire_ ground team?"

"Just the most relevant," Anderson responded calmly. "In case you had any other questions."

Udina sniffed. "If your report was accurate, all the data should have been in it."

Keeping only a cursory ear on the talk, Shepard eyed his surroundings. The elevator was one of the more recent innovations to the Citadel, apparently part of the original design attributed to the protheans, but removed at one point in the distant past for unknown reasons.

Currently, it was considered the most secure form of transportation on the Citadel. One end rested in the Systems Alliance docking bay, protected day and night by armed guards and unsleeping monitoring systems. The other end terminated in the Citadel Security headquarters, a law enforcement location run by turians for the most part.

Shepard nodded to himself. _Knowing turians, their end is built into a fortress._ Then he frowned. _But … the Keepers apparently go everywhere they want, and not even the turians stop them._ He found himself tensing further. _The perfect assassin, why didn't I see this before? All anyone has to do is imitate a Keeper, and they can go anywhere they want!_

A vague, familiar feeling passed over him, like he'd seen the elevator before, but from a different angle. For a moment, he started feeling as if he should be with someone, like there was an old acquaintance he was missing.

"Shepard? You there?" Udina's voice cut through.

Shaking himself slightly, Shepard discovered the elevator had stopped, as had his little entourage. He mentally reinforced the casual mannerisms, taking a slow look across the open C-Sec lobby. "I'm here. Just taking a moment to see what's changed."

He saw one of the turians nodding in approval out the corner of one eye, but Udina scowled. "You can do your examination later. We have places to be now; the Council has Saren on the schedule for questioning on the Presidium.

 _That's one of the man's flaws,_ Shepard remembered. _He always has a plan, but when things go differently, he gets edgy._ He gave the man another look, trying to be inconspicuous. _He's a bit sensitive today though. How involved was he with this Spectre situation? Presumably, quite a bit, considering the man's position._ A deep sense of irritation blossomed somewhere in his chest, _I've done the man a lot of favors in the past. I think I deserved a heads up on this!_

He quelled the anger with the ease of long practice, distracting himself with the sights of the Citadel. It was, after all, a security nightmare. Gleaming walls, fused metal panels that had an almost adobe look, rose to what appeared to be nearly five story heights, perfect for someone to run across.

The center row of the Presidium was a garden, beautifully green with well-trimmed trees and shrubbery. By the appearance, Shepard guessed the plants had been imported from a temperate world, although it wasn't a guarantee. Possibly, the plants had been maintained since the Protheans had last dwelt there … unlikely though it was. While the official brochures _claimed_ each visible garden was an imitation of some member planet, he knew from experience that unknown plants had a habit of popping up.

Udina led the small group to an open square, took a left past an asari secretary-analogue, and past a small flight of stairs that lead to the official Embassy reception rooms. Thankfully, the large groups of people that swarmed the Presidium were away for the moment, allowing Shepard to relax at Udina's destination. The Systems Alliance Embassy was a room dedicated solely to human usage; a fact that's importance had to be explained to him by Udina at one point. The geometry was simple; more space equaled more prominence. However, the fact that humans had received an Embassy location opposite the Presidium Tower entrance, and less than fifty feet from the combined Elcor/Volus embassies, spoke volumes.

Reflecting, Shepard wondered if the ambassador had interpreted the information correctly. _Either we are held to the same level of importance as the volus, much older members, or we are considered as powerful as the elcor … militarily dependent on the asari._

He chanced a look over the side, into the deep, still waters of the pool reservoir. The projected sky, a comforting shade of blue, shone at him. Reflected images danced across its surface, making the depths look refreshingly cool. For a moment, he thought he saw something deeper in the water, a faint squid-like object, but nothing moved. He blinked hard, looking again. Nothing.

 _Huh._ Shepard moved away from the edge, catching up with Anderson. _Must be overtired._

[break]

The Presidium tower sat at the very center of the Citadel. Its length stretched nearly a quarter of the central hub's diameter, both the envy and pride of those millions whom lived under its shadow. The Embassies were housed near its base, close to the elevators that transited between their position and that of the Presidium Tower.

While the Wards appeared to lack the day/night cycles that the Presidium possessed, Shepard had to admit, from the Presidium, the sheer size of the mammoth arms was enough to impress almost anyone.

However after seeing the giant disc-station Arcturus, the center of Systems Alliance authority, there were a few discrepancies to be made. Shepard noted there didn't seem to be as many agricultural centers present on the Citadel, which meant the larger station depended on external shipments for nutritional supplies. It also seemed to lack any defensive platforms around its perimeter; granted, the arms could close for an allegedly impervious shell, but there were only a number of smaller GARDIAN class turrets present. That was a deterrent for dropships, certainly, but not for anything as large as or larger than a cruiser.

 _It feels too exposed for me._ Shepard hitched his shoulder uneasily. The sensation of eyes watching his back made the hair on his neck stand up. Intellectually, he knew it was probably just a C-Sec operative, or even one of the inter-species watchers. It didn't make him feel better though.

"Saren's dirty, I know it!" A turian with an eye-visor similar to Shepard's own appeared to be arguing with another turian. "I just need a few more days, just — just stall the Council and I can bring him in."

"Stall the Council?" Scoffed the other turian, apparently higher ranking by his attitude. Turians seemed to gain attitude with rank; Shepard had known quite a few decent grunts, but very few humble high-ranking officers. "You don't _'stall the Council,'_ you do your job or give it to someone who can. Your investigation is over, Detective Vakarian."

The visor-wearing turian tensed, Shepard could tell by the tightened stance around his hips, then snorted. "Fine."

Internally, Shepard raised his eyebrows. _Interesting, a petulant turian. What will they come up with next?_

He came alongside, giving a professional nod. The detective nodded back, pausing. "You're the Alliance folks from Eden Prime, right?" He continued without waiting for an answer. "Maybe you can get the Council to listen to reason. Spirits know I tried."

The turian stalked off, muttering under his breath. Shepard could only catch a few words, none of which made sense.

"Come on, the Council is waiting for us," Anderson beckoned.

Shepard gave the odd turian a last glance, then followed his CO up the stairs.

The top had a long dais, with a gap between the Councilors and the non-Council members. Shepard glanced across the gap, looking down to see an ornate network of glass panels separating him from a small garden. He glanced up again, checking the distance between himself and the Councilors.

Councilor Tevos was watching him, something he was certain he'd have normally detected. Feigning disinterest, he looked down again, using the opportunity to examine the framework for weaknesses. It wasn't completely a fake interest, he was genuinely interested in the structure of the highest levels. The more he studied it, the more he was beginning to realize its artificial nature. _It's as if they have no idea what this place is for, and just decided to call it the Council Audience Chamber or something._ Shepard scanned the pillars, noting the multi-tiered walkways that stretched over the walls. _It might have originally been a cafeteria, or a slave auction block for all I know._

He thought of the stairs and the remote nature of the Tower. _It can't be for security, not totally._ The balconies loomed in his peripheral vision, wide openings with thick barriers waist high. _But lose control of the high ground and any defenders are vulnerable, particularly if attackers come up the outside; those turrets aren't geared for infantry, I think._

The fifteen foot image of a turian shifted, drawing his attention. Shepard's eyes narrowed, this was the same turian he'd seen on Eden Prime, the one to whom he'd demonstrated his accuracy. He recognized both the scars on the flat sections of his face and the oddly precise hoses trailing from the back of the turian's skull. _Did you see me? Do you recognize me?_ A sense of mirth bubbled through his core. _The game grows deeper. A witness is useless unless he saw something useful, but what he threatens to have seen can disrupt entire worlds …._

"You intend to do nothing about this – this _travesty_?" Udina didn't scream, but the outrage his body language exhibited did the volume control for him.

"I'm sorry, Ambassador." To Shepard's eye, Councilor Sparatus's posture indicated actual regret. "While the Alliance is a valuable trading partner of the Council, you are not a member."

Shepard became very interested in Councilor Tevos. Her eyes remained steady, hands still, but her shoulders were slightly hunched, hints of tension. _Unless she's faking it, in which case …_ he shifted focus to the salarian representative, Councilor Valern. _Watch_ _how the others react to her._

The salarian in question gave a salarian equivalent to an eye roll, signaled as a twisting head shake. "The problem is, ambassador, you have only a single item of evidence; a garbled data file obtained by a technician whose integrity is in question. Saren Arterius has been one of the Council's best agents, entrusted with some of the highest security measures in the galaxy."

 _"I would also like to protest the insinuation that I would harm one of my own protégé's. Nihlus_ _Kryik_ _was one of the brightest Spectre's I have ever encountered, a peerless combat engineer."_ The floating turian had an arrogant tone, just circumspect enough to avoid being called upon, but making its intention known. _"But what more can be expected from such a young race?"_ The image's body language shifted, arms folded, feet wide. _"Only luck has prevented their collapse under their own weight. Humans should never have been considered for Spectre candidacy."_

Shepard growled internally. Anger at the insults, at the smooth-tongued lies, surged behind his mental barriers. Recollection of the small stuffed toy he'd discovered by one of the geth torture devices shimmered in his mind's eye. _Now it's personal, Spectre or no. When this meeting is over, I'm asking for a month's leave. No one deserved what you tried to do to Eden Prime._

"I object!" Udina bellowed. "This hearing has nothing to do with whether Shepard is a worthy candidate or not, and Spectre Arterius should remember that!"

Shrugging, the turian agent settled back, arms still folded in the universal denial position. Below, Councilor Sparatus seemed to shift focus slightly, glancing at the floating image once before returning his gaze to the small group.

Tevos, however, had an almost hungry glint in her eye. "While I agree with Ambassador Udina, I must point out that Saren has a point. Is Shepard the right candidate for the task? Can he put aside interest of his people in order to view the safety of the whole?"

Behind them, looming silently, Anderson growled deep in his chest. Shepard realized the man had said little during the discussion so far, and wondered why. He took a moment, glancing between his superior's body language and that of the Council group. _A lot of tension there, something else is going on here._ A part of him thrilled at the increasing complexity, while the rest of him groaned. _More red herrings. What's important and what isn't? Talk with Anderson later, get the present done now._

Returning to the conversation, Shepard gave Tevos a single look, not bothering to speak. She held his gaze, something few people could do. As she did so her posture shifted slightly. It was a small motion, nearly unnoticeable, but it was there. He made no sign of having seen it, but made a note to watch his step around the asari Councilor.

Before Udina could respond, Valeren spoke up. "I believe we are straying off topic, as you know Councilor." He glared at Tevos. "The present business is closed. There is no proof Spectre Arterius performed the alleged actions on the human colony: Eden Prime. Unless," he tilted his large, dark eyes at Shepard, "you have further evidence?"

For a moment, Shepard considered mentioning his own observation. _To tell, or not to tell, that is the question. My word against his, and I'm pretty sure the Councilors wouldn't trust me … and he knows it. He obviously has a plan, and I don't know what it is. No, better to say nothing for now, and hope for a better chance later._

The thought was nearly instant. Shepard shook his head negatively, "I have no evidence at this time." But as he finished speaking, he threw the holographic turian a wink. _Chew on that, big boy._ He didn't know if Saren knew batarian mannerisms, but the action was a deliberate challenge in the four-eyed culture. Shepard frowned to himself. _I really hope he doesn't think it's a drell courting request; I used my left eye, not my right, yes?_

"Then this Council declares the matter closed." Councilor Tevos seemed to relish the words. "Thank you for joining us, Spectre."

 _"I am pleased justice has been done here."_ The shadow-image bowed deeply, almost mockingly deep, and faded.

Udina spoke up. "And the Spectre status? What of that?"

Councilor Tevos smiled at him approvingly. "That is still on the table, of course. We must discuss it at a later time, however. This emergency trial has conflicted with a great deal of business already."

The ambassador bowed. "Of course, until next time then."

The Councilors stepped back from their podiums, leaving the room. Shepard raised an eyebrow at that. _No chairs? They don't spend enough time here to need chairs?_ Realization followed soon after, followed by anger. _They didn't expect to spend much time here. The case was judged before the court was even in session!_

"I knew it was a mistake bringing you in here Anderson." Udina muttered quietly. "We need another plan. Shepard, you need to find more evidence, bring down Saren!"

Shepard looked back. "We can't cut out Anderson like this, he was in charge of the mission. Besides that, why should we ignore a resource, even if Saren doesn't like him?"

The captain was already shaking his head. "I was hoping my presence would be minimal, but that's a wash. No, Udina's right. If I'm involved, your investigation will be seen as slanted." He glared at Udina.

"Hah. Like this entire farce of a trial wasn't?" Shepard made a gesture at the former podium, one he'd learned from the quarians. It looked innocent enough, but the human hand generally didn't clump into three groups the way his had.

"That's just politics." Udina waved the comment away. "Saren is one of their top operatives, of course he wouldn't be found guilty. That's where you come in."

Shepard backed up warily. He liked the ambassador well enough, but there were times when the man was somewhat arrogant in his dealings. "What do you have in mind?"

"Let's go to my office." Udina began leading the way back to the elevator. "We have much to discuss."

* * *

 **A/N: Hey all, this is the last of my prepared files. From here on out, when I post is dependent entirely on how much time I have to write. Classes are going well, and I am diving into Nordic histories, looking into my Senior Sem project.**

 **Thank you all for reading, and a special thanks to Nightstride for his beta work!**

 _I don't own Mass Effect or its moneymaking capabilities. I do however own a better fashion sense than Donnel Udina, and no he can't have it._


	5. Citadel

**_Author's Note: Longer note at bottom, please read._**

* * *

 _Saren Arterius was an incredible turian. His devotion to duty was second to none, and his skills_ _were_ _considered to be among the best of his order._ _On the other hand, he was a despicable person_ _whose morals and methods were questionable at best. For example, one recorded incident tells of how he dissected a batarian smuggler's hand_ _without anesthetics_ _, simply for_ _the_ _entertainment value of a krogan mercenary he was questioning. Another regrettable incident tells of how he_ _threatened the life support of a paralyzed asari's bondmate_ _to get information from her mother. As the record shows, he taunted the bond-mate with his omni-blade, making larger holes in the tubing, culminating in severing the supply line completely after obtaining the information he needed._

 _Looking beyond that_ _, his methods for adjudicating criminal behavior were – pardon the pun – poorly executed in every sense of the word;_ _the reputation Saren built was not based upon a sense of poetic justice. While it is logical that an enormous territory requires a fearsome reputation to be kept in order, Saren's wholesale slaughter of entire stations was definitely more than necessary. Further deeds are simple enough to research; the mundane mind seems to delight in every morbid fact, and as many fantasies that the darker tastes can concoct._

 _The_ _differences, or lack thereof, between Saren and Shepard_ _have_ _been debated time and time again. Sometimes I think that the only purpose for historians is to get another book published on the subject, rather than add knowledge. Every month, I receive a new shipment of reading material,_ petabytes _of information that appear on the open market. Each time, I store the majority of it in long-term memory. No sense losing even the useless, I guess; I was always something of a packrat._

 _At any rate – one moment. Pause recording – …._

… _\- are you sure the probes are picking up that much activity? No, I'm not questioning your capabilities – it's just – all right. You check on that while I double check the sensor parameters._

… _\- It's not voice activated? I'm certain I asked him to upgrade its programming that way … ah. That is … logical._

 _Resume record_ _– blast. Have to get that command-software repaired. You'd think the epicenter of a production station would at least have functional equipment! A coherent users guide wouldn't be amiss, either._

 _At any rate, the Saren issue was not a large problem, at least at first. It was insurmountable._

 _Imagine finding out that George Washington, Mahatma Gandhi, and Admiral Grissom all conspired together to betray your family to slavers._ _Now imagine finding someone who would believe you. A difficult proposition, no? This was not nearly as difficult in that regard, but what followed was much, much harder. You see, Saren had years to_ _build_ _his advantage; decades even to create a financial empire to support himself. What could a single man do, even if he was an N7+?_

 _Dr. Arnold Pavenmeyer_

 _~Project Ragnorak Files_

* * *

System Alliance Embassy, Ambassador's quarters, Citadel

Shepard stared at Udina in disbelief. _He's crazy._ "You want me to do what?"

"I want you to bring down Saren within twenty hours."

 _No, that sounded just as crazy the second time, too._ He took a breath. _Got to play this carefully._ "Ambassador, I don't think you quite realize how much work is involved in this." Shepard raised a hand, ticking off the points on his fingers. "First, I need background information, more than what the SAIS has." He gave the older man a sardonic look, "At least what the Spectre channels will allow. I need to look into his finances, his arrest records, what weapons he prefers, how he likes to approach an assignment. This kind of thing takes _months_ to prepare, not _hours_."

Udina grimaced. "I know this is rather sudden, but I believe it must be done."

Behind the ambassador, Shepard could see Ashley rolling her eyes expressively. Kaidan had returned to the Normandy, overseeing the equipment being loaded; Shepard found himself missing the man's calming influence. _Odd how quickly both he and Ashley seem to have fit in._ He glanced at Anderson, to see him patiently working on a dedicated console in the back. _Wait … he's deliberately pushing himself into the background, leaving me front and center!_ The captain caught his eye, winking once. _Blast it, he knows I know!_ He narrowed his gaze. _Setting me up for Spectre already? We will have words, Commanding Officer or no._ Aloud, he responded to Udina, "Why so soon, anyway? Saren isn't on station, and we have no way to track him. We might as well take our time and do this right."

The ambassador spread his arms expressively. "I know, Shepard, and that's what makes this difficult. If we could take Saren down immediately, it would be good for everyone, but we can't, so we have to play this strategically. This has to look good, and that means we have to get something good enough to destroy Saren's reputation, even if we can't get the actual person."

Shepard tilted his head to one side, trying to understand. "I can see how the Alliance wants to see progress," he said slowly, "but there's something else going on here. Isn't there." The last part was more of a statement than a question.

"Yes, of course, you know how multi-level politics can be." Udina scowled, "The only reason we were able to get the Council to think about making another human a Spectre was because of that Beacon. Without the Beacon, the only leverage we have is our technological differences, and the salarians are making too much profit from our shared expertise for us to risk alienating them."

 _Another human? Who else …_ Shepard noted Anderson hunching slightly. _Must have been bad._

"More than that," Udina continued, "Saren has made us look weak, and we need a response. The Alliance is a sovereign power, with a military the equal to both the salarians and turians combined!" His fist came down on the desk, thudding with finality. "I think we could take on the asari, too. Their _Destiny Ascension_ may have enough firepower to equal a fleet, but they rely on appearing invincible. Saren is the same." A slow smirk began working its way across Udina's face. "We had to teach the galaxy we weren't going to be pushed around at Shanxi, and we'll have to do it again now."

Shepard blinked. _We_ barely _won Shanxi. As in: almost lost._

"What, did you think I'd give you some line about pride and justice?" Udina showed his teeth, actually chuckling. From experience, it meant bad things for others. "Bring down Saren, and you prove to the Council that a human can take on the best the rest of the galaxy can send against him. Avenge Eden Prime, and give the Councilors a black eye for what they're doing."

Behind Udina, Anderson fidgeted. Shepard missed seeing his warning glance.

"It's a show of strength; Saren took on one of our colonies and lost. You will take down Saren, or at least expose him for what he is: a murderous, lying tool of the Council."

Shepard sat back. The rhetoric was typical of Udina, but this level of vehemence was not. _Maybe he's more patriotic than I'd thought?_ A warm feeling touched him. _It's possible, after all, politicians have to be everything to everyone. That has to take a toll on your mind._ A different thought rose, though. _Do we really want to anger the Council that way? Yes, Saren must be punished, but not by rubbing the Council's collective face in their problem._ He shrugged mentally. _That's a problem for the politicians. The situation hasn't changed though, so it's six to one, half a dozen to the other._

"Can't be done." Shepard answered flatly. "I need a month at the least; it would take five hours just to get a full background workup from SAIS, and a week to go through all of it properly." He idly wished for the comforting weight of a long rifle at his back; always a calming presence. "To get it done fast, I'd need a team of auditors, and a forensics expert too. Check his bookwork for discrepancies, and get through wherever he's been."

A female voice spoke up. "Commander," both Shepard and Udina twisted sharply. Ashley looked somewhat abashed at the attention, but forged on. "What about that turian in the Tower? Detective something or other? If he was investigating Saren, he has to have had some files." She shuffled her feet awkwardly. "He seemed awfully interested in seeing us win."

Shepard groaned internally, _Et tu, Ashley?_ He ignored the informal address, since it was only in thought.

"That's a good point." Udina perked up again, making Shepard wonder if the man was mildly bipolar. "I think you can find him through Harkin, one of the foot officers in C-Sec. Rumor has it he knows where everyone is, although," his face made a strange motion, "he is one of the most thoroughly repugnant examples of humanity I have ever had the pleasure of encountering."

"Right." Shepard stood. "I'll get on that then. Where do I find this Harkin?"

"In the club, Chora's Den I think it's called." Udina must have noticed Shepard freeze. "Surely a soldier like you has been in a club before?"

Shepard didn't turn around. "Chief Williams, let Major Alenko know we'll be re-arming at the Normandy. We have a detective to catch." _Something I never expected to say_. He finished in his head. The thought of his destination squirmed in the forefront of his mind. _Or go._ He shuddered.

[break]

Anderson watched his protégé leave the room, the great granddaughter of General Williams close at his side. The fact that the woman, renown for being impossible to impress, had attached herself so closely to the young commander spoke volumes of his leadership skills.

 _He has such a gift, why can he not see it?_ Anderson shook his head. _Life has handed him so many handicaps. I pray he won't break with this one._ His focus changed to Udina, puttering away behind the ambassadorial desk with a smug grin on his face. _I do everything I can … and he calls himself a friend._

Anderson took a breath. "You lied to him."

The ambassador lowered his tablet, looking mildly shocked. "I did no such thing Captain Anderson. Every word I said was the truth!"

"All of it?" Anderson pushed his voice deeper. He didn't have the threatening rumble Shepard could attain, but knew the visual portion of his disappointment more than compensated. "Did you tell him _why_ the asari have been playing hardball with you? What they've been up to since they first discovered the salarians cut a deal?"

Udina flushed, angrily. "Bah. Shepard knows the economic situation better than me sometimes. He knows the asari have been toying with our trade agreements for years now." The older man gritted his teeth at the thought. "Every time I think I've made inroads, an emergency comes up, or the financial situation changes. If I didn't know better, I'd say there's a conspiracy."

The Captain watched the ambassador natter on, complaining about delays, rising from his chair, ascending into a higher-leveled dudgeon. Out of habit, he checked the windows, looking for potential eavesdroppers. _I should probably ask Shepard if Udina is in on his little theory, get his thoughts on bringing him in if not._ The thought was intriguing; an ambassador would be a powerful ally. Satisfied, Anderson re-focused on the balding man.

Udina had his hands in the air, pacing through the luxuriously appointed room, settling his feet heavily as if the floor had done him some personal wrong. "And after that, I managed to divert an entire shipment. Fifty tons! You know what happened?" He spun pointing at Anderson, "She thanked me, but pointed out how the salarians were able to resupply a day earlier. One day!" His hands fell, shoulders slumping before he rose again. "Fortunately, the salarian contracts are proceeding better than we'd hoped. Between the _Hephaestus_ stations and the nanotechnology assets we've been releasing, we've been able to accelerate their colonization plans exponentially," his eyebrows rose and fell happily. "They love the stations almost as much as the quarians do."

A sudden thought made the ambassador's expression turn thoughtful. "If I recall correctly, one of the asari Matriarchs owns a significant portion of a nanotech producer." His eyes widened, " _That's_ why Tevos is so eager now!" Udina scrambled for a blank tablet, scribbling notes on its surface haphazardly. "Shepard is from Mindoir, one of the leading centers for nanotech development. _Now_ it makes more sense!"

"What does?" Anderson lifted his hands from the keyboard.

"Why they want Shepard!" Udina happily plonked himself back into his chair. "He's from Mindoir, one of the foremost nanotechnology producers in the Alliance. If I recall, he arranged for a Sirta med-gel plant too; the colony has become a cash _cow_ once it was resettled." The ambassador almost seemed to spin his chair, such was his enthusiasm. "Ha! That matriarch I was talking about, the one back under the Goyle era, was gifted with thirty percent ownership of a nanotechnology patent. Right now, that patent is earning _billions_ in net profit. _Everyone_ will want a part of that, or at least the appearance of being involved in the process."

"Ridiculous." Anderson snorted. "Shepard's control over Mindoir is the same as my control over the Traverse: poor to nonexistent."

"Ah ah ah," Udina countered, waving a finger. "It isn't _just_ a show. You know as well as I how highly the colony holds him in regard, and what _we_ know, _Tevos_ suspects! It's politics to her, and Shepard is an Alliance member connected to a strong portion of the techno-economy!"

Anderson nodded slowly. "With Shepard as a Spectre, they show that the Alliance is considered a worthy partner. By denying me, they demonstrated a selective process …" his expression darkened. "Or too much credulity."

"Excellent!" Udina clapped approvingly, "you have a flair for politics, don't you?"

Waving the idea aside, Anderson decided to switch topics. "Speaking of technology, what are the quarians up to recently? The _Normandy_ project has had me busy for a while now. Should I be aware of anything?"

"Hmmm." Udina's exuberance dampened. "I must admit, I am conflicted about the quarians. Half of the Council approves of our getting them out of circulation, but the other half appears to believe we are poaching from their own reserves." He shook himself, "and yes, I know there are three members of the Citadel Council. Basic arithmetic and politics do not appear to mix."

With a sigh, the ambassador walked to the wide opening. If forced, he would probably admit the Council knew how to demonstrate the Citadel's attractive vista to best advantage. "Last I knew, the Migrant Fleet had almost finished refurbishing its Heavy Fleet, and that the Liveships were back in fully functioning order. The reverse chiral worlds we are loaning to them are highly productive, their efficiency levels are off the charts." He tapped his chin, musing. "Now that I think about it, this geth report should be made available to them. They may find it of interest."

Anderson snorted. "I have quarians on _Normandy's_ ground teams. I'm pretty sure the Migrant Fleet is _completely_ aware of the situation by now."

"Hmph. They should have gone through official channels," Udina grumbled. "But … I suppose it is understandable; I'll forward a report all the same. Might as well gain some favor there." He scribbled a note. "No matter. Back to Shepard: finding evidence on Saren." He sighed. "Councilor Tevos appeared to take great personal interest in the situation. The request for a human Spectre had to have been passed through her approval list, after all. She's seen our candidate short list, too."

The raised tone made Anderson think hard. "She didn't object very strongly when Saren deep-sixed my own attempt a ways back. Why are they playing so oddly?"

Udina shrugged. "I wasn't sure before now; Tevos is very hard to read, as you have no doubt discovered for yourself. She has a reputation for being a master of the long-term strategy, well-earned at that. I also know she considers her race to be superior, and on occasion I have felt she talks down to anyone whom has not performed some great deed on behalf of the asari." His eyebrows lowered. "But she is one of the most powerful beings in Council Space. She only backs winners, and right now we need her in our corner."

Anderson waited patiently. With politicians, it normally took some time before they finally got to the point.

Brown eyes focused on his own. "Our talks have led to potential agreements, all hypothetical," the ambassador's shoulders went back, but his head was still hunched, as if he were nervous. "Very hypothetical, but her record does not indicate a penchant for prevarication, even hypothetically." He resumed his original position, eyes lost in the distance.

"Three of the oldest firms in Asari space have been sending inquiries, very politely phrased, ever since this Spectre business began again. They provide discrete support for Huntress groups, an eclectic bunch if there ever was one. The point is the groups are highly independent, and take good manufacturing wherever they can find it." His eyes gleamed. "That's why I was surprised when Tevos opened preliminaries; she's been so standoffish before that I'd almost given up hope. Now, she knows of Shepard and Mindoir, and the Huntress groups are seeking high-quality gear … that would be quite the coup!"

Anderson nodded. _I've seen them in action. Formidable opponents; very few wish to be on their bad side._

Udina echoed his nod, as if to himself. ""They use the best hardware available. They know what's good, and I would be willing to bet they've been lobbying for Alliance tech." Udina settled in his chair with a self-satisfied look. Essentially, should we succeed, Tevos would be publicly acknowledging us as being worthy of trade. She knows the volus and hanar are very profitable, and humanity has now been in contact with the asari for over thirty years. That's faster than greased lightning in their eyes. If we can gain contracts with the asari similar to what we have created with the salarians and quarians, Alliance profits will break all records, dare I say it? A new Golden Age for Humanity?"

The man's face froze. "He has to do it, Anderson!" his eyes grew wider, "By all that's holy, help Shepard get Saren. In the name of Humanity, get Saren!"

"You know I'll help him as much as I can, _if_ he will allow it." Frowning, Anderson stood. "I'll do what I can. Right now, the _Normandy_ needs me to watch over its refitting, since its Executive Officer is being sent on a hunt. Good luck." He left the ambassador to his plots, wondering all the time if his own well-wishes were heartfelt.

[break]

Shepard picked up the small stuffed bear from the last ground mission, freshly laundered. The button eyes were gleaming; likely the result of a sonic cycle removing what might have been years of grime. The dried blood was gone as well, leaving it feeling lighter too, almost as if the loss of its previous owner had destroyed some part of its being. He stroked the soft brown fur, letting the frustrated rage build up once more, reminding him of what had to be done. _Never in my presence. Death happens, but when a Shepard is around, it happens to others._ His jaw set, stoking the inner anger to a quiet burn. _Trouble is coming: its name is Shepard._

Carefully, he placed the toy in his locker's upper portion, just behind a spare pair of boots. No one to date remarked on his behavior; every soldier in the game had developed their own unique quirks at some point or other. Word got around, particularly when a weapon of blunt trauma hung in the background.

Returning to his primary work, he began re-armoring. The Nightstalker set had arrived, making him feel whole once more. He'd been forced to undergo another bio-scan, mapping his peripheral nervous system for proper setting of the element zero conduits. That had been a decision out of his power, although getting through the scan with minimal questioning had been a bit of a chore.

It was worth it, though. Shepard admired the spotless armor pieces. Its black surfaces had been roughed in a matte finish, just as he preferred, red N7 stripe boldly gleaming down the right pauldron. Carefully, he flicked the visor into a different mode, letting him see the ultraviolet finish gleam its hidden message. He allowed himself a moment of smugness. _N7 Plus, best of the best._

Heading back to the airlock, he ran into Pressley. Seeing the man gave him an idea. "Navigator, how are your research skills these days?"

The older man looked surprised. "Hmmm, still pretty sharp, if I do say so myself. I've been going through the databases ever since I came aboard, and I was doing quite a bit for the Academy before I was asked to come here."

The idea grew. "Would you have enough time for a side project, Pressley? I wouldn't ask, but it is somewhat important."

The balding man smiled. "Checking the maps used to be a full-time job, but with the improved VI's the Captain got us, I can get it done in half the time. What do you have for me?"

Shepard took a step to one side, lowering his voice. "I'm going after Saren; he's the one who sicced the Geth on Eden Prime, set up that bomb and destroyed the Beacon."

The Navigator's eyes grew flint-hard. "What can I do, Commander?"

Keeping an eye out for prying ears, Shepard leaned closer. "Market research. Get in touch with SAIS, see what they have on non-human shareholders in major Alliance colonies." He tapped his new omni-tool; it beeped, flashing once. The navigator's own implement flashed a second later. "I just sent you contact information for my personal broker; ask him to help with the search. Tell him to prioritize his search for Spectre clearance trades, anything that had to be given high-level confirmation."

Pressley nodded once, "Understood, Commander. How far down do I go?"

"The _Normandy_ comes first, Pressley. Make sure everything needed for her is done first, then go through the rest. The broker has an entire firm behind him to do research, I just want you to figure out search terms and go through what you can." Shepard straightened, clapping the man on the back. "I'll get you as much help as soon as possible, but for now, let's keep this quiet. Your cover can be simple, like checking where good hiding places for the _Normandy_ crew will be."

"Hiding … places?" The man looked confused.

"Places where humans can interact outside Alliance space without raising suspicion. Humans are seen in places with money, places with a lot of people moving around, ships moving in and out on a frequent basis." He paused. "Can you do that?"

The navigator's back stiffened. "Can I? I … may or may not … have run an illegal database network for a hacking group in my early days." His cheeks darkened, "Something I'm not exactly proud of now, but back then, I was a ghost in the systems. Sometimes I think it's why I do what I do now." He gestured at the CIC, "I search the maps, looking for weak points, checking for errors. I am the final say in where we go, and nothing," His lips moved upwards, " _Nothing_ gets past my systems on this ship."

Shepard's estimation of the older man went up a notch. _I better take another look at his record. If he's as good as he says, why didn't SAIS recruit him?_ "Very well. Do your best, and let me know if you need anything. I have twenty hours, officially, but I would be willing to bet this project will last a lot longer."

He left the man, and headed for the airlock. Just before he joined his squad, Captain Anderson intercepted him. "Commander, a word if you will?"

"Of course," Shepard followed his CO's lead, drifting into a quiet corner. "What is it?"

Anderson's jaw was clenched, evidence of strong emotion. "I've gone up against Saren, Shepard, a long time ago. Be careful, he is very good. Even more brutal than his reputation would suggest."

Shepard's eyebrows attempted to explore his hairline. "You? But how –" Facts assembled themselves in his mind. _Present during ostensibly a political action, indicating confidence by Alliance brass. Very quiet, restrained actions during that little exhibition. Highly decorated N7 operative. Extensive experience in anti-terrorist actions, specialist in guerrilla warfare. Given the Plus ranking almost twenty years ago, shortly before – no?_ "Candidate?" he asked quietly.

A firm nod told Shepard everything; it had not ended well. "Any hints, Captain?" He kept his voice light, but quiet.

"You're an N7. You know what happens if you get caught." Anderson looked sideways as a technician fumbled past. "If you can get the proof Udina wants, there's a chance the Council will do something about it. But if not," the man's posture tightened into something more … carnal. "If not, the Alliance just might send one of its best after him. Remember the Goyle Treaty; Systems Alliance law enforcement agents are allowed to pursue a suspect into Council Space."

Shepard growled, making a guttural noise deep in his throat. "With enough restrictions to choke a Thresher Maw, yes."

Anderson shrugged. "It's better than nothing. Could you honestly say you would allow a Council agent free reign in Alliance space? Keeping in mind both sides have technology that could damage, or empower, the other?"

For a moment Shepard wanted to protest, out of sheer stubbornness, but resisted. "No."

The older man clapped him on the shoulder, firmly slapping the armor plate protecting the soldier. "Get out there and get it done. I'm counting on you, Shepard."

Shepard set his jaw. "I read you, Anderson. Saren's going down. One way or another."

[break]

The route to Chora's Den was surprisingly close to C-Sec's location. So close, in fact, that there appeared to be adequate signage, betraying frequent usage. He frowned, considering. _In a way, that makes sense. Turians don't seem to have regulations for off-duty hours, and while it's a stereotype, asari probably think of it as a second job._ He shook his head sternly. _Knock it off. There are plenty intellectual asari not interested in either killing you or finding the local moth-shop boutique … you just haven't met any yet._

On autopilot, Shepard nearly tripped over his boots again, almost missing the flash of movement. His peripheral caught the motion, recognizing the off-white color. Instantly, he dove for cover. "Tangoes, three-o'clock low!"

Ashley cursed, matching his move as gunshots began passing overhead. Her assault rifle was already in hand, her body tense, almost vibrating in happiness. "Close quarters combat; get 'em in knife range and I'll be happy."

"Hah, mech pusher." Shepard gave her a wink. _Camaraderie in battle … all right. But leave me alone everywhere else._ "Never satisfied, maybe I should get the next fight delivered to the _Normandy_ bay?" The return snort made him chuckle inwardly.

To one side, Kaidan had generated a barrier around himself, using the boosted shield to take several shots in order to look over the field before dropping flat. "Two hostiles across the gap." He jerked his shoulder to the side, the direction in which they had been traveling. "Movement on the left, looks light, no heavies."

Switching to a pistol, Shepard tracked to one side. "Covering left, push them out front."

He waited before the familiar crump of a detonating grenade went off to his right. A surprised yell, followed by a burst of assault rifle brought his lips upwards grimly. Just beyond the angular edging of a wall, yet inside his field of vision, a faint azure flash trailed from one corner to the next. _Biotics_. Shepard gave a derisive sneer to no one in particular. _Once they go blue, nothing else will do._

His omni-tool clicked, spitting a grenade into the launcher on his forearm. Shepard paused, tracking the end point of the biotic trail as it flared and faded, getting closer behind different corners. _Powerful opponent, using biotics to speed up the approach. Good way to get close fast; depends too much on having distracted targets._ Estimates ticked through his mind before his finger twitched. The grenade flew over a dozen meters, and slapped against the floor plates just shy of the wall.

That out of the way, Shepard joined fire with his squad, teaming up with Ashley to tag one of the more aggressive targets. The anti-armor modification on his pistol punched through the thin cover, forcing their assailant to start running. Her disrupter mods were forcing their prey to stay low, but with Shepard now aiding her attack, hiding was no longer an option.

 _Turian._ Shepard could see its head-spikes now. They moved along the wall, accompanied by an unusual, orange glow. It shone from behind the metal barrier, like some form of armor floating above the alien's regular armor. Strangely, a trail of sparks followed the glow, along with a scraping noise.

Before Shepard could take advantage of the visible target, an explosion boomed to his left. A scream, shifting in tone, went past him as a blue flash ricocheted off one of the pillars filling that section of the station. The cerulean haze of a biotic Charge terminated in an asari, lying broken against the far wall.

It was just enough warning for Shepard. He fell into a shoulder roll, firing back to the left. A second asari blurred towards him at a dead run, her purple-tinted barrier slapping his bullets aside as if they were nothing.

Frowning, Shepard sent a sub-vocal command through his visor, switching from semi-automatic to full auto. His bullet spray doubled, kicking against his wrist with more energy.

The biotic barrier swirled more actively, but didn't fall. The asari picked up speed, bringing her shotgun to bear.

He was not interested at in the prospect of experiencing such damage at close range. Shepard's off hand flickered, sending an EMP burst from its supporting position on his gun-hand.

The asari pounded closer, running as if she were possessed. Shepard could understand that; Kaidan and Ashley were busy taking out two others whom had cover, so at the moment, the asari was facing a single opponent. As soon as one of her allies made a mistake, or if Shepard's own allies switched targets, her situation would go from bad to dead.

 _Of course,_ Shepard hid a vicious smirk, _she might be arrogant enough to think she could take all of us on at once. Maybe do some damage from ambush, but never in open combat._

His concealed grin threatened to widen as the asari triggered a blast. The gun failed to respond, making her pupils dilate.

Shepard took advantage of her confusion, winging another grenade at her feet. She tried to jump, but the shifting tactics combined with the unexpected weapon failure threw her concentration. All she was able to do was increase her barrier before the explosion threw her off her feet.

Another surprised cry told Shepard that his squad had finally broken through the turian's enhanced shields. He stood up, waiting. The affected turian floated upwards in sight, just high enough to be targeted by Ashley. He went down.

Stalking forwards, Shepard kept his sidearm aimed at the groaning asari. Stopping at a safe distance, he waited for his squad mates to get closer. _Hostile prisoner Rule Number One: never approach an unsecured prisoner alone._ Internally, he boosted his estimation of his comrades a few levels; they had adapted to the situation fluidly, trusting each other implicitly.

"Who are you?" Shepard holstered his weapon, getting down on one knee. Over his left shoulder, Ashley had her Avenger leveled in a blatant warning.

"Go kiss a varren." The asari growled at him.

He sighed. "Look, you need help. You're in over your head, and –" he ducked a coruscating ball of blue fire. "That was rude."

"Drink sacha and die!" The asari's hand quivered, but stopped its motion as Shepard pinned it to the floor under his boot.

Without emotion, Shepard clubbed the asari's temple with a fisted gauntlet, striking the region above her aural lobe to overload her pain receptors. Her eyes rolled up in response, unconscious. He looked over her body a moment, then tapped his earpiece. "Shepard to _Normandy_. Would you notify C-Sec they have a few bodies to pick up?"

 _"_ Normandy _here, acknowledged. Message sent."_

Shepard didn't pause, pointing at the other bodies. "Search them. Take their omni-tools, good weapons, anything that looks valuable."

Ashley's head jerked up. "Sir? Are you serious?" Behind her, Alenko froze, eyes flicking between Shepard and the bodies lying on the floor, one precariously balanced on the ledge.

"Identities will be through their omni-tools." Shepard ignored the living-but-unconscious asari, moving to riffle through the pouches on the dead asari. "Weapons can tell us where they get supplies; any useful data will probably be stored with the valuables." He looked up, eyes hard. "No time for a proper crime scene; this is fast and dirty forensics. Do you think C-Sec will give us first crack at the data?"

"Um … no, sir." Ashley slowly moved to the balanced turian. "But … I don't feel right robbing the dead."

"Spoils of war. They attacked us for no reason. If they were justified, we can always send a nice apology to their next-of-kin." Shepard grunted, checking the asari's boots. _Good high-quality boots. Dirt in the treads, turian made. Heavily used._ "I would bet you that half of what C-Sec finds would go to the evidence rooms. The rest would be untrackable." He didn't bother explaining the statement, and flicked a glance back at the weapons chief. She was slowly but professionally going over the remains of a turian. He sighed, quietly. _They're new to this. Black ops have made you cold, Shepard, treasure the innocence while you can._

"Copy the omni-tools." Shepard kept his tone in a grudging acceptance level. _Pick your battles, Shepard. Don't break out the artillery for every fight. Still, if they're going to be with you for the long haul …_ "But take the side arms." He gave both of them a measuring stare. "Always good to have an unregistered weapon. Trust me on that one."

He watched in quiet amusement as they sped up their actions. _Compromise. The soul of discretion I am._

They worked their grisly task in silence for the next few minutes. It took Shepard less time than the others, but he was more used to this kind of thing, and more thorough. Asari may have not used amps out of pride, but they were renown in certain circles for hiding wealth. Bracelets, necklaces, money pouches under the armor … the number of ways to conceal riches was endless.

Jogging boots striking metal caught his ears. He rose, motioning for Kaiden and Ashley to back away. From the further side of the chamber, a turian, followed by an asari and another turian came into sight. His short, clipped strides faltered when Shepard moved.

Shepard kept his hands widespread, the universal no threat posture. "C-Sec?"

The turian nodded in a world-weary fashion. "Officer Chellick, C-Sec Investigations. You called about an attack?" His eyes moved over the bodies, now in a neat row on the floor. They landed on the unconscious asari. "Left one alive, did you?"

Shrugging, Shepard made a circling gesture with one hand. "You know how it goes. First chance of shore leave and suddenly everything goes pear-shaped."

The turian sighed deeply. "Yeah, happens every few months. Alliance, right?"

"Commander Shepard, Systems Alliance." Shepard gave a formal salute. The turian came to attention, returning the move crisply. _Turians understand military. Show you're like him, and he'll do things that would have benefited himself, were he in your place._ "I'm the Executive Officer on the _Normandy_."

The turian motioned to his companions. The asari immediately moved to the still unconscious attacker, pulling what looked like handcuffs from her belt. "I don't suppose you could tell me what's going on then, could you?"

"Politics," Shepard grunted. "I'd tell you more, but I think you have a lot of the information already."

The turian's manner chilled. "I see. Anyone I should be talking too, in case of … complications?"

"Not really. I'm just looking for some information on Spectre Arterius, and these mercs managed to get the drop on us. No proof of correlation. Yet." He tilted his hip to one side, letting the arm fall beside one holster. "On that line, do you know where I could find Detective Vakarian?"

The turian shrugged. "Mister Vakarian is on official leave right now. He's had … a lot on his mind lately."

"Ah. I would still like to talk with him, if that is possible?" Shepard persisted. _Given the turian mindset, he probably pushed Detective Vakarian from memory as soon as he went off duty._

"Can't help you there." The turian appeared eager to get on with his day. "All I know is he was called up to the Executor office a while ago and word came down to make sure he didn't stop by the Armory before he took some vacation." Chellick's shoulders went back, head lowering slightly, "Garrus is a good detective; a bit odd, but his heart is in the right place."

 _Mantling,_ Shepard thought. _That's what the ornithologist told me it was called, some residual attempt to look bigger … or something. Don't remember what else ..._ Mister _he called him, not_ Detective _. Significant._

"My apologies for wasting your time." Shepard drew his lips over his teeth in a friendly display, but he tensed his abdominals, twitching a hip sideways. "Please, have a nice day." _Turn your shoulder to him, keep eyes wide. Combine the honest expression with deceitful hips … being a turian has to be confusing._

The turian gave a stiff nod, striding to the apparent team medic. Shepard noted the alien's hips twitch slightly, a reflex action with one knee swinging out of line, ruining what would have been a perfectly straight military stride.

"Wow, never a slow day with you, is it Shepard?" Kaiden commented quietly.

"I've heard of the concept," Shepard checked his peripherals. No one was observing them at the moment. "But I've found I can't get much done when things go quietly."

"Amen to that," Kaiden agreed. Ahsley nodded quietly.

"So then …" Shepard unconsciously let his shoulders drop, starting to walk towards the so-named 'gentleman's' club, "On to our original objective … hope it's worth it." He mumbled the last part under his breath.

Unfortunately, Kaiden's ears were sharper than he'd anticipated. "Something wrong, Shepard?"

The commander growled at himself. _Watch it, bonehead. Next thing you'll be spilling company secrets to a reporter!_ He took a moment to compose himself. _How much do I tell him? Them?_ Shepard corrected himself, seeing Ashley's inquiring look. _Blast it all for a game of soldiers_ He took a breath. "I do not have the most – amicable – feelings towards those businesses. Have either of you seen an Officer's Club on a Hegemony world?"

Both of his soldiers shook their heads.

"Then give thanks. What they do in the name of entertainment …." He shuddered, and didn't attempt to minimize the movement. "I've been sent in periodically. One of the most likely places to find human slaves. It's a perfect place to show off how powerful the local leadership is, and how weak humans are. Each time, I wasn't – " he swallowed, "able to liberate everyone, but I made damn sure the owners had a most – poetic – restitution for their loss. I've never been in a place like that voluntarily. Ever since then, I've felt like burning down the house whenever I get close to a place like that."

There was little time to adjust to the idea. The business was located a mere handful of paces from where the C-Sec officers had arrived. Shepard held back a growl at their callousness, but kept it from leaving his throat.

Flashing lights, advertising an improbably flexible woman of indeterminate race, sparkled off his visor as they drew closer. The title: Chora's Den was made out of a stable light source, in comparison to the image. Shepard fought down an inner anger again. _This is getting tiresome. Stress is one possible reason, but even high-stress situations don't make me this irritable._ Shaking it off, he adopted a longer, more confident stride. _The faster we get this done, the faster we can get out._

The doors opened, revealing darkened innards. Shepard ignored the writhing figures above the counter. Memories flooded against the barriers in his mind, screams echoing through his subconscious. The immaterial sounds receded slightly as he focused on the customers.

As if in response, the anger flared again pounding in time to the pulsing rhythm. It hammered on his soul, calling the darker aspects he knew were buried within. Adapting to it, Shepard used the beat to measure his steps, searching each face he came across. _Loud music boomed off the cages, batarians lolling at their ease. Once in a while, hands reached through the bars, grasping hopefully at passing trays, only to be struck down._ He shuddered, hoping the armor covered the movement. One asari, darker blue than most, seemed to be trying to catch his attention. Dismissively, Shepard shouldered past, continuing his search.

 _There._

At the table furthest from the entrance, sat a balding human, slightly paunchy in appearance. While multiple humans were present, if in minimal numbers, this one wore the C-Sec uniform – badly. Stains covered his shirt front, and the jacket was slung carelessly over a corner of another chair, looking as wrinkled as if it had been manufactured in the previous Ice Age. Udina's less-than-enthusiastic description seemed more and more appropriate.

 _Hmmm. Model of civilian authority, eh? More useless than a mermaid in a chorus line by the look of him._ Shepard shoved his thoughts back into the depths, stepping towards the man.

"Are you Harkin?" He kept his voice civil; while it was debatable, he was wearing the emblem of the Alliance. An example had to be made.

"Who wants 'ta know?" The balding man slurred. He seemed to have trouble focusing on Shepard, eyeing him somewhere in the abdominal region.

"Udina said you could tell me where Detective Vakarian is." Shepard really, really hoped the information was short. Deeply held memories were rising to the surface, much in the same way monsters from the deep detected a tasty morsel bobbing on the ocean's surface.

"That sunnova … something … bad." Harkin straightened slowly, elbow dragging through an unidentifiable fluid spilling across the table. "Y'know he tried ta investigate – " He slumped, threatening to fall before regaining his balance at the last moment.

Shepard didn't move to help.

"Tried ta investigate me?" The man finally burst out. His volume was easily covered by the club's music, not that it probably would have bothered the clientele.

"Big surprise," Williams commented sarcastically. "I saw your record on the way over. Didn't know it was possible to have so many DUI's and a legal driver's license at the same time."

"They ain't gonna lock me down …" Harkin leered at her. "I'm one of tha first human C-Secs y'know? Udina's got meh back."

Ashley backed from the man. "Charming."

"Do you, or don't you, know where Detective Vakarian is?" Shepard took control of the conversation once more. He felt vaguely disturbed, the human C-Sec officer had a deeper look of cunning in his eye. _No way he applies that intellect to his job …_ Shepard looked around. _Aha_. A krogan, loitering next to the exit was keeping a close eye, not on Harkin, but Shepard and his crew. Farther to one side, a pair of humans were drinking freely, except the level in their mugs never seemed to decrease. _Not smart enough to avoid getting drunk, but smart enough to hire guards for when he does. Pathetic. Unless getting drunk is a cover?_

"He ain't a detective no more, not Vakarian." Harkin raised his glass unsteadily. "Not after what he explahne … explaneish … said."

Shepard raised an eyebrow. One of the krogan bouncers apparently not with Harkin's personal detail, had noticed his own presence, and was now paying close attention. Soldiers were evidentially common to Chora's Den. Armed soldiers bearing the colors and arms of the Systems Alliance … apparently not so much.

"The point?" he asked. _Screams echoed through the short hall, coarse laughter shaking the walls._ The memory was swiftly quashed, forced into its container until it would be needed. They always were, eventually.

The smaller man smirked upwards. "What's it worth to ya?"

Shepard felt Alenko stiffen behind his shoulder. Casually, he took a step closer, hiding the biotic's reaction from the lesser man. "The information will help the Alliance, isn't that enough?"

The corner of Harkin's mouth yanked back, like a particularly clever monkey, detecting an unexpected bit of fruit. "If tha Alliance wants it, then it can pay a lot. I know tha'," one of his eyes twitched spasmodically, "I seen enough stuff going through to know that." The non-twitching eye slid over Williams form appreciatively.

The thudding music wasn't quite loud enough to conceal Ashley's growl. Harkin heard it too. "A few hours with soldier girl there should work." Teeth gleamed. "Unless y'all too high 'n mighty for an occifer – a osserfi – wossaname – me."

Shepard's estimate went down. _The man's not only drunk, he's born stupid, even dumber than me. It's a wonder he's survived this long … Udina, what have you done?_ Shepard glanced at the Gunnery Chief's face. Despite the poor lighting, he could see the darker color. _Masseter muscles are clenched, blood in the face, teeth bared, eyebrows down. Yep, definitely angry._

It gave him an idea. "Chief Williams," he gave the soldier a deliberate wink, "would you mind taking this upstanding officer of the law outside for a little … entertainment?"

The dark-haired woman stared at him as if he'd lost his mind. Then, her lips curved upwards. Shepard held back a shudder; he'd seen sharks with more amicable teeth.

"Certainly, sir." She raised an eyebrow, "but you know, I am still on duty."

He waved airily, "Consider yourself off the clock for say –" he checked his wrist, "fifteen minutes?"

"Plenty of time, sir." Ashley bent her gaze to the oblivious man at the table.

"Ah-ah," Shepard held up an admonishing finger. "Off duty soldiers should not address a superior officer as 'sir.'"

"Ah, right. Shepard." Her eyes didn't rise, measuring the seated man. "Come on bud, you wanna have some fun?"

Shepard took a couple steps back, ignoring the now leering Harkin getting towed away by the armored woman. _Idiot. He has all the survival instinct of a dodo._ He shoved down yet another memory. _Can't leave yet, need to give her a few minutes._

He glared at the room in general, casing its weak points out of habit. _Then again, this place is a dive, no one would notice …_ one of the krogan shifted slightly, aiming his shotgun in their direction rather pointedly, beginning to walk after the gunnery chief and her … date. The approach of another krogan, larger and with a scarred red crest distracted the gun-wielding krogan made him pause, but not move the gun. _All right, a little waiting game._

"Looks like we have a couple minutes before we need to leave, Kaiden." Shepard kept an eye open, waiting for the right moment. "Have any suggestions?"

The biotic pursed his lips. "Have any stories you tell the rookies?"

Shepard raised an eyebrow. "You're not rookie, Alenko."

Kaiden shrugged. "So? This is a strange place, and we're waiting for orders. Why not?"

"Point." Shepard leaned against a nearby table, folding his arms so one hand was near his sidearm. _A new game, eh? Let's see how you play._ "You ever get training in Counter-Biotic-Combat maneuvers?"

The other man snorted. "I trained with other biotics, so I suppose you could say I did."

"You didn't get the CBC course load?" Shepard asked, a little surprised. "I'd think any biotic would want training there."

"Tell me about it." Alenko leaned against a wall, casually folding his own arms. "You took it, I guess?"

Shepard nodded. "Of course, standard N4 training ... did you ever go up against an asari Huntress?"

The biotic gave a fond smile "Took all the courses in that line, mostly in technology based takedowns. Biotics are induced by nerve actions, whether by motion or just training. Disrupt the action, and you hamstring the biotic." A faraway look came to his eyes. "My first training session was … interesting. An asari Commando was hired to give us a bit of a workout, no weapons."

"Ouch," Shepard winced, "sounds painful."

"It left a few marks, true." Kaiden acknowledged. "Nina, the asari, had a bit of an attitude. It was well deserved, but I was a hotheaded youngster."

Shepard sighed knowingly. "Weren't we all at some point?"

"I guess," Kaiden shifted his posture. "She had left a few openings in her stance, and I took the bait. At that point, I was a pretty decent hand-to-hand combatant, and I knew it. Problem was, she had better biotics, and she knew it."

"What happened?" Shepard asked innocently. He eyed the large scarred-plate krogan brush past the Harkin guards. The guards moved out of the larger krogan's path after only a short exchange of glares. _Interesting_.

"Well," Kaiden paused for a moment, "I was thrown around for a bit. She reduced my weight, then tossed me at the ceiling, then increased my mass to hit the floor. Hard. Then she demonstrated some of her favorite moves, and I had a few close-encounters of the walled kind. In the end, I managed to get some payback."

Apparently oblivious to Shepard's split attention, Kaiden continued. "She tossed me up at the ceiling again, then started lecturing the group while I was up there. I was able to push against the ceiling to change my angle while Nina wasn't looking; then brought me down with a lot of extra mass."

Shepard laughed silently. _I know what's coming, rookie mistake, especially from an actual Huntress._

"She'd bumped up my weight to a few hundred kilos, and brought the whole thing down right on her own head." Kaiden chuckled heartily. It was an infectious laugh, something Shepard couldn't help but join in on.

Shepard settled back a little further. "You landed on a full-fledged asari Commando?"

The Lieutenant's voice continued, soothingly calm. It was an interesting dichotomy, what with the floor-shaking rumble of the raucous bass music booming in the background. _This is a better place, perhaps._ The thought surfaced without warning. It was intriguing, how such things arose from nothing.

Relaxing slightly, Shepard let the other man continue. It was interesting, hearing the descriptive experiences someone else had undergone, particularly when the conversation had started as an interrogation of himself. At the risk of seeming rude, he let his own eyes roam, picking out individuals, examining them for a moment before moving on.

A turian caught his eye. The head-fringe was a peculiar color, as if the turian had used gold leaf on the tips. The unsteady lighting played over the metallic finish, gleaming at Shepard.

" _All right, Lieutenant?" Shepard looked up, Anderson's dark eyes locked on his own. "Lieutenant, get the wounded out of here. Take this," the older man handed him a gold-colored credit-chit. "Give it to her family. It's not much, but it will get them to safety."_

He changed his focus, watching the nervous bartender behind the counter. Her eyes kept darting to a specific location under the flat top, as if seeking reassurance from something, probably a weapon.

" _Got you now, little traitor." The batarian levelled a Graal spikethrower at Shepard's face. "Did you think you could s**** over the Blue Suns, and get away with it?" Behind the batarian, one of the hired mercenaries slowly lowered his own aptly named Executioner sidearm at the batarian's skull._

 _Shepard gave the batarian his sunniest expression. "Pretty much, yeah."_

The music thumped in a new pattern, bringing Shepard out of his reverie. Part of his mouth curled upwards at the memory. _That was a good ending. No loss there._

His attention turned, watching a customer berating an entertainer about something. She looked young, although Shepard knew asari didn't really age in the same way humans did. Yet, her body language indicated annoyed fear, an intriguing combination.

" _Please, sir, don't hurt me." The woman, on her knees begged. One of her eyes was blackened, and blood stained her blouse. "Please, just … just take what you want. I won't fight you, please?"_

Shepard jerked to attention, frowning. He turned away, trying to find something better to look at. His eyes stopped on a krogan, grunting angrily at another turian, before finding a human woman talking to an asari. Both wore the abbreviated outfits that would have been unseasonable at almost any time on Mindoir.

 _The asari laughed, pushing away the prone body. "I have better things to spend money on than fixing_ your _mistakes, Kazmel. Find a way to convince me, and I'll think about it."_

 _The body stirred, struggling to get up. Faint gurgling sounds were coming from the direction of its mouth, annoying the asari. She stopped laughing and leaned closer. "Get your dirty carcass out of my sight Kazmel. Or I'll find your daughter and let_ her _show you how to pay off debts. Got it?" One blue hand flew back, shoulders raised …_

Shepard felt the blood drain from his face, memories coming in strongly. He feigned looking at his omni-tool before addressing the lieutenant abruptly. "We need to leave. Now."

Giving him a startled look, Alenko moved, clearing the way in front of Shepard. He kept looking back at Shepard's face, then redoubling his efforts. With judicious use of his biotics, they reached the exit in record time, exiting the club less than twenty minutes after entering it.

Feeling a great relief, Shepard closed his eyes a moment, opening them to see Alenko's concerned eyes looking at him. "I'm all right, just … a lot of pressure recently."

Hesitantly, Kaiden nodded. "Yeah, it wasn't exactly my finest moment. Some folk might be a bit … sensitive about it."

"It's nothing to worry about." Shepard said firmly. _What was he talking about after the Nina bit? Must have been important if he's so apologetic now. Have to ask about it later, when he's more relaxed._

The biotic apparently took the hint, falling silent. Shepard tried to read the expression on the other man's face; his attempt failing as abysmally as he'd expected. The younger man's face was as unrecognizable to him as that of an elcor. _Don't dwell on it._ He consoled himself. _Back to work. Which is … what right now?_

Given a lack of options, Shepard decided to begin searching for Ashley.

The formidable soldier he'd met on Eden Prime was nowhere in sight, raising his concern level slightly. C-Sec was just now hauling away the bodies, or at least looking as if that action were imminent. Chellick noticed them, acknowledging their presence with a jerk of the head before returning to his work. The unconscious asari was gone, recovering in a hospital probably, and a pair of Keepers were slowly ambulating towards the gunfire-damaged walls.

Seeing the Keepers gave Shepard another sick feeling, different from what he'd felt in the Den. The green-skinned arthropods … or so they looked to be … were a nauseating, luminescent green. The tiny packs on their ventral surface clicked in time with their movements like miniature timepieces, a small receiver dish rotating in place. To his surprise, the arthropodal pair turned, advancing on him. For an instant, Shepard saw tiny jaws just below the bulbous eyes, teeth like stiletto daggers peeking out. He blinked, and none of the creatures had jaws, let alone teeth.

Then, he noticed something different. Not only where there no teeth, none of the … things … had even looked in his direction. He shook himself. _You're tired, hallucinating, Shepard. They haven't changed in millennia._ He squinted. _All the same, it feels like they're watching me, waiting for something._

His omni-tool chirped an incoming message alert. He glanced down, then hurried to open it.

 _Commander,_

 _Fun time is over, unfortunately. I got Harkin to tell me where that detective is, meet you by that alley outside C-Sec?_

 _Chief Williams_

Shepard lengthened his stride, leaving the Keepers, and their hallucinogenic attributes behind. "She got it," he called over his shoulder. He broke into a run, armor plates moving smoothly with him.

The designated position was thirty steps from the entrance of Chora's Den. Shepard paused at the sliding door, letting it hiss open without slipping through. _Are there doors on everything?_ He considered the potential fire hazard, balanced against the vacuum protection. _Tough call on a station … but this doesn't look nearly strong enough to hold against vacuum._

Ashley Williams stepped into his view. She was humming a cheerful tune, almost loud enough to cover the moaning sound coming from a bundle further back. She grinned at him, "Hey Skipper!"

Shepard checked his wrist. "Williams. Excellent. You have the information?"

The soldier drew herself upright. "Yessir. Vakarian is supposed to be picking up supplies from a Doctor Michel in the Wards, but he also has an apartment in the number Four ward." Her mouth twitched in what Shepard recognized as a suppressed motion, "Also, Mister Harkin has decided to leave drinking and skirt-chasing for the indeterminate future. Sir." Her statement was punctuated by a hollow groan from the alley at her back.

"An expensive lesson." Shepard was already accessing the Citadel network, requesting the address. "In time, he might even thank you for it." His attention re-focused on the conversation, "Bravo squad, do you copy?"

 _"Roger that Commander."_ The now-familiar Lieutenant Jørgensen's voice came in strongly.

"Send a quick-response team to Doctor Michel's Clinic in the Wards; no power armor."

 _"Copy that. Light assault on the way. I'm closest right now."_

He tapped the earpiece. "Understood. Let me know as soon as you are there, you are looking for a turian named Garrus Vakarian, so be polite."

A laugh came back over the comm. _"When haven't I?"_

Shepard rolled his eyes, hiding the action by keeping his back to the two squadmates. _This is a bad idea. I know it._

[break]

No one was there.

The apartment rose into the simulated sky, pretending to be a mighty edifice amongst equally false giants. While there were indeed buildings taller than the local ten story 'skyscrapers,' none truly compared with a planet-based version.

Shepard knocked on the door once more. _It's funny,_ he thought, _pushing the elevator button won't make it go any faster, nor will knocking on an empty door magically produce inhabitants. I know this, yet I fall in the same habit … something to think about._

"Doesn't look like anyone's here." Ashley commented.

Shepard gave the smooth door a rueful look. "Apparently not." He brought up the Bravo squad channel. "Lieutenant, any luck?"

There was a pause before the Jørgensen's quick voice returned. _"No soap, Commander. Doctor Michel said there was a quarian, three turians and a few asari, but … ah … Vakarian isn't around."_

"Blast." Shepard tapped the door again. No response. "Head over to the Embassy and wait there. If anything happens –"

 _"Yeah yeah,"_ Jørgensen interrupted impatiently, _"Don't worry Commander. We got your back."_

He raised an eyebrow at her tone before deciding to just let it go.

The clack-stomp of boots hitting a metal floor reached his ears. Out of habit, he translated the potential walker. _Flat clack, not a high-heel. Sounds like it isn't metal, not human unless a human bought local. But … it's an almost nonexistent delay between heel-toe connection, so either a turian or a quarian. Not many quarians here, so turian._

"Detective Vakarian?" Shepard asked aloud without turning.

The sound stopped, before picking up, moving closer. Now the steps were quieter, yet oddly firm, grounding their owner for sudden movement. They came to a halt a medium distance away. "That would be me."

Turning around, Shepard recognized the face. Blue streaks along the mandibular plates, diving and swooping in the customary identification for colonies established centuries before; but what was more relevant, the ones he'd studied as being major contributors in military history. _From the Carthaan colony, I think. Maybe the Thracia? The two look fairly similar._ There was something about this turian, however, that gave a sense of danger. He wasn't sure what exactly, but it made one feel, cautious. He couldn't help comparing it to the other turian that had practically twisted his life inside out so recently; while Nihlus had espoused dark colors, Vakarian was wearing C-Sec blue, very close to Alliance colors. The paint on the flat planes of his mandibles matched his armor's hue, giving the impression of a turian made of armor.

Shepard held out a hand. "Commander Shepard, SA Navy. Attached to the SR-1 _Normandy_. A pleasure."

Slowly, the turian took his outstretched hand. _Extensive interaction with humans, or a devout student of inter-species interaction._ Shepard considered alternatives. _Or he was higher on the C-Sec totem pole than I'd thought …_ "If my information is correct, you were the man investigating Spectre Saren Arterius?"

Vakarian's dark eyes flashed. "I am. The Council denied your side of things, I take?"

It was odd how comfortable Shepard felt, like he was speaking with an old friend. He shelved the thought for the present. "Good and bad. My Spectre status is still possible, but Saren was cleared of all charges."

"Damn." The turian looked furious, the spines on his skull spreading slightly, a very strong reaction given their immobile nature. "Under _duplex praeceps aguntur_ , that means he could dodge a lot of reprisal … although I'm not sure why the Council would risk repercussions like that."

Shepard translated mentally. _Something like Double Jeopardy?_ He suddenly felt angry as well. "He's not getting away with murder, not if I have anything to say about it." Somewhat encouraged by the turian's reaction, he continued. "I've been tasked with investigating Saren's activities. I'm bringing him down for what he did to Eden Prime."

The turian's facial plates shifted, widening around his eyes. "Really? After what the Council said?" The turian's legs shifted to a wider stance, ordinarily an aggressive tone, but the majority of his weight remained farther back, a sign of approval.

 _A_ very _different turian. The first I've met that takes such a cavalier tone about his superiors ... a mutant, perhaps?_ Forcing a casual grin, Shepard let his tone drop. "There's something about me you might need to know. Saren is a Council Spectre, but he has immunity only in Council Space. My jurisdiction lets me pursue wanted criminals … no matter where they go."

The turian's needle-shaped teeth flashed menacingly. "I like the sound of that."

 _Good._ Shepard stood back as the detective keyed his door to open. "Will you help?"

The door slid open, and the turian made a gesture, "Please, call me Garrus. It doesn't take a brilliantly handsome detective like me to suspect we will be working together for a long time."

 _Not at all self-conscious._ Shepard thought. _This could be interesting._

* * *

 **A/N: The latest chapter is up and running! It took less time than I thought, although this chapter has the record for most relays between my beta and I. Over 4 shifts, if I recall correctly. Yes, there was quite a bit of foreshadowing going on here, and I needed to double-check some of my timeline sheets, ensuring everything is rolling on schedule.**

 **Now, I wanted to let you know I replaced the first chapter with the Prologue I had intended to put there. It was originally placed in the end portion of Early Discovery, but as that is more of a supplemental work for this, I moved it to where it made more sense.**

 **Thanks to Nightstride, for his tireless, uncomplaining efforts on this fic. It would be a much poorer, boring fic without his sterling beta skills. Thanks also to Schadenfreude, for allowing me to borrow her protagonist. Best of luck in your higher education miss!**

 **Next update is unfortunately vague; physics test on Monday, and a Senior Seminar paper I'm working on; Scandinavian Heresies and why they never really existed. For your reading pleasure, please look for any of the afore-named authors; also, a shout out to the collab fic I've been working with F13D and Andotrota: Dawn of Titans.**

 **Until next time folks!**


	6. Beginning the Hunt

_Donnel Udina. That name has a significant entry in my files, easily within the top ten for sheer size … among my human records, anyway. He was one of my best selections, one of the many agents I'd acquired in my long banishment from the galaxy. Of course, as Serena loves to tease me, I am only human._

 _Udina was everything I needed at the time: he_ _was ambitious, cunning,_ _and utterly devoted to the advancement of Humanity. He was well aware of_ _the_ _powers outside his influence,_ _powers moving to manipulate his actions,_ _but he managed to take_ _advantage of them. Such brilliance can only be innate; learning the trait is possible, but such a performance always has less – panache – if I may say. That gift helped him know precisely how important he was, and how far he could push; albeit not without the occasional error. Udina learned from those mistakes, seldom repeating the same one twice, heightening his value. Of course, he knew it, and was careful with his demands, tailoring each concession to the debtor._ _That is both the benefit and the bane of a mercenary man: he always has a price. While beneficial, the trouble is that you never know if you are the most recent retainer of his services._

 _My little operation had grown_ _by that point in time. What element zero I had on hand had been used to create drone vessels and cargo carriers that required minimal crew. I traded high-quality metals for things I could not produce myself, like seeds for the greenhouses, dirt for the same, and the occasional element zero shipment. Element Zero was the one mineral I could not manufacture on my own, so I sought reliable individuals to make purchases for me. Shepard was one of those chosen, Donnel Udina was another. Between the two of them, I had access to nearly any resource I desired. And I used it._

 _Of course, I was able to make more than just alloys. Research was my first love, and building things became a hobby for me. Because of that, I was able to make little trinkets that proved useful a time or two._

 _~Dr. Arnold Pavenmeyer_

 _Project_ _Ragnorak Files_

SR-1 _Normandy_

Shepard ignored the questioning glances from the crewmen as he led the turian detective through the _Normandy's_ decks. _He's around here somewhere, Joker mentioned the XO cabin … ah._ He tapped the entry announcer outside the cabin currently being used by the navigator.

A hoarse shout of acceptance prompted him to key the door seal. Holding up a hand to keep Garrus – _when did I start using his first name?_ — out of view. "Mister Pressley, do you have a few moments?"

The older man appeared tired, if Shepard was reading his slumped posture correctly. The balding section of the Navigator's head reflected light dully, and his eyes were bloodshot as well. For a moment, Shepard had to focus on the fact that no one else would be in the room.

Pressley spoke first. "Commander? Certainly, what can I do for you?"

Shepard gave a sharp nod. "I found you some help on the project I asked you to work on. Any progress?"

The navigator backed deeper into the room. "I have a list of stock purchases made by Mr. Arterius, and a number of locations where he's been reported in public media … but not much more at the moment."

"Well then," Shepard gestured, a little bit of showmanship he couldn't resist. "I managed to find the detective in charge of the Council investigation . May I introduce Detective Garrus Vakarian?"

Pressley stiffened as the turian crossed the threshold. "Sir."

"Please, it's Garrus, none of that _sir_ business. Every time I hear that I think my father is behind me." The turian held out a hand.

"Of course, Detective." Pressley gave a barely polite half-bow. "You have information on Saren?"

Shepard watched the turian quell a wince; it was in how the armored shoulders came back. He glanced at Pressley again. Just shy of parade rest, back is tense … what is his problem?

"Well, I had information. Unfortunately, C-Sec locked me out of the systems when they sent me on 'vacation.' But – " a small optical drive appeared in one tridactyl hand. "I did manage to acquire most of my files before leaving the building. Think you could use them?"

The Navigator turned towards the rooms' main terminal. "If it's good, yes."

Shepard gave the turian an apologetic shrug. _No idea what's going on there._

"Of course it's good." Mandibles shifted in a cocky grin, pupils tightening happily. "I pulled it together myself."

The navigator mumbled to himself, but kept it below both of his guest's hearing.

"If you want to look over the data, I'll take Detective – ah – Garrus on a tour. All right, Pressley?" Shepard paused, waiting for a response.

"Very good, sir. Shall I notify Engineer Adams you will be coming?" Pressley kept his back to them, seemingly intent on the screen.

"Thank you, that will not be necessary," Shepard guided the turian back out the door. "I'll check back in an hour or so."

He paused a moment, looking back. _That was out of character, Pressley's usually the very soul of efficiency, old school manners._ He looked at his companion, then back at the balding man. _Not the time for questions … better keep it in mind for later though._ Shrugging internally, he resumed his steps towards the elevator, conscious of his companion. "I'll show you the armory first; we're loading up on what we should have had earlier, so it will be the busiest place.

The turian shrugged easily. "You're the Commander. I'm pretty much on vacation anyway; take all the time you need. Um, you're not going to get in trouble for this, are you?"

Shepard chuckled lightly, letting it expend itself as the elevator slowly opened. Inside, Ashley Williams was already waiting, a slight bounce to her step all but begging him to hurry. He resisted the urge to laugh again; _have to admit, the enthusiasm is cute. Good to see her recovering … at least in part._

He hit the button with a flourish, turning back to the detective. "Since you're helping me with the investigation, I have a bit of leeway. If we're going to work together, you should know your way around here … unless you'd prefer to do your part on the Citadel?"

Garrus laughed, a whistling sound.

[break]

The Armory on the _Normandy_ held a subtly prominent location inside the hangar slash loading bay. It was admirably placed for both supplying troops being deployed, and providing the sound baffle necessitated by shuttle and Mako drops. It also greatly simplified shipment distribution, rendering the hangar a prime location for the quartermaster.

The hangar itself hummed with activity, filled with well-organized, scurrying crewmen and delivery drones alike; a sight heartwarming to any responsible XO's soul. Shepard took a moment to savor the sight, one side of his mouth curving upwards. That's what I like to see.

On the port side of the hangar, a six-wheeled Mako transport was slowly being lowered into place, light reflecting dully off its armored sides. The floor panels creaked under its weight as they touched down, shock absorbers groaning as the vehicles' full mass rested on them for the first time. Shepard couldn't wait to see what enhancements would be in place; if he knew Anderson, there would be at least a few modifications already installed.

Mech suits, the larger and heavier variety, were already lining the port wall behind the Mako. Since it was only a frigate, there was space for a half-dozen of them, multiple copies of the 'small' Menelaus version. Spare parts rested in neat stacks, already waiting for the next loading phase. Excess armor plating, no quartermaster would leave port without it, supported multiple sets of the long barreled miniguns. Bright red warning stickers gave the entire assembly an almost carnival façade, especially when one took a step back and could see the violent orange-hued crates of grenades to the aft.

Shepard looked back, noticing Ashley staring at the sets, longing evident in every line of her body. He cleared his throat, making her eyes jump to his. He nodded at the armor. "Looks like you have your job cut out for you Chief. Think you can get your gear stowed away before the others take the best spot?"

Her teeth revealed themselves in a wide grin. "Sir, yes sir!"

He made a scooching motion with one hand. "Off you go then. I'll be inspecting it later, so make it count."

No sooner had the words left his mouth than she was off like a shot, making a beeline for a large crate. Two crewmen got out of her way as she barreled to it; apparently, experienced with mech-drivers.

"Sir?" Alenko's voice caught Shepard's attention. "There's a man to see you, says he has a package from Valhalla Industries? Ah, he says it's a confirmed delivery, won't give it to anyone but you."

Shepard's breath stuck in his throat. _He sent it so soon? I found out my rifle was missing yesterday!_ "Show him in, Lieutenant." His voice remained calm, despite the way his heart was pounding against his chest.

The dark-haired biotic soon appeared, leading a taller man who carried a brown paper package, holding it protectively. Upon seeing Shepard, he stopped, saluting. "Captain Michael Todd Weathers, of the HMS _Baldwide_. Sign here please."

Shepard took the proffered stencil, adding his thumbprint to the signature confirmation. "A captain, just to deliver a package? That's a bit unusual."

"No, sir." The delivery man carefully lifted the oblong package higher, "I'm the captain and crew of the _Baldwide_. My son takes care of managing things at home, but he'll join me soon enough." A second smile, "When the time is right."

Puzzled slightly, Shepard gently lifted the package. "Thank you for taking the trip, I appreciate it."

"No trouble at all, glad to stretch my legs a bit." Captain Weathers winked, just as he left. "Take care of yourself."

Shepard waved a casual farewell, and then took the package over to the Armory gun-platform. It was where most of the weapons were repaired or modified, providing the perfect space for laying the long box on its flat surface. Almost forgetting his companions, he started opening it.

The case underneath the quaint brown wrapping paper was pure black, chrome detail work highlighting the edges. A tiny stylized N7 marking rested under the handle, on which Shepard placed his thumb. He felt a pinprick, as a blood sample was taken, then heard a faint whine as something powered down within the containers innards. The lock deactivated, clicking softly, allowing him to move the lid back on smooth hinges.

Inside, cushioned on dark velvet, was a rifle collapsed in a compact block. It was beautiful, an ebony rectangle approximately ten centimeters tall by a meter long. He slowly reached into the box to pull it out; long, deadly lines, sliding into place under his hands as prettily as a song. Unfolding the object released a longer view, midnight-black panels flipping into place across the sides. The balance, for its size, was nearly perfect; centering its weight just over the point a hand would naturally grasp it.

 _"Commander, there's a quarian admiral calling for Captain Anderson?"_ Joker's voice interrupted Shepard.

"The Captain is on the Citadel," glancing at the ceiling with annoyance. "I would assume he is with Ambassador Udina, can you reach him?"

While waiting, he flipped the rifle over, discovering a gold plate, faintly embossed with the single word _Excalibur_ , stamped into the lustrous metal. It was inset flush with the metal, dark enough to avoid easy notice yet very simple to show off if desired.

He had to smirk. _Emrys you sly old dog._

The rifle came back up, flexing into its compact travel position. Shepard clipped it to the mag-clamps on his armor, treating it as gently as if it were made of baked eggshells. It wasn't so fragile, of course, but the feeling he had while holding it ….

 _"Ah, Commander, the Captain isn't taking calls right now, and the Admiral is really, really insisting he talk with someone. Like something crawled into his suit and started chewing on something important."_ Jokers voice sounded more nervous this time, and no wonder. Technically, it was the task of a ship's Executive Officer to handle the calls, or the next highest rank at least. Leaving a Flight Lieutenant to take incoming calls from an admiral could be seen as a deliberate offence.

"I'll take it at the CIC, Joker." Shepard moved back, stepping around an officer trotting into the bay with a pair of landing markers in both arms. "Moving there now."

 _"Aye aye, Commander."_ Joker's relieved voice responded almost immediately, not that he could be blamed.

Moving quickly, Shepard gave the hangar bay a quick once over. "Garrus, with me, Alenko, stay on top of things here. Get Williams to help you when she's stowed away her gear." He didn't pause to check if his orders were followed. Alenko was experienced enough to handle cargo installation, and he could almost feel the turian's bulk at his side.

 _How tall is he, anyway?_ Shepard sneaked a peak. The detective didn't appear to have the same mass some of the marines possessed … _but he's definitely no junior petite. Better make sure he doesn't make any height jokes around Lieutenant Jørgensen. She couldn't hit five ten with stilts._

The elevator wasn't present, and was apparently serving heavy-cargo capacity functions on a different level. Not surprising, given the current activity on the main cargo deck. Still, with an admiral waiting …

"Want to try a shortcut?" Shepard asked.

"In a frigate?" Garrus raised one of the miniature plates over one eye. It was a disconcerting sight for the uninitiated, but turians had highly expressive faces.

In response, Shepard led his taller companion to the transit tunnel, swinging it open with a practiced wrist. The darkness, illuminated solely by miniature panels, yawned invitingly.

"Um, no thanks. I'll wait for the elevator." Garrus stepped back, shaking his head.

"Your loss." Shepard slipped into the opening, squirming his bulk into the passage like an eel. The panel closed behind him, clicking shut.

[break]

Less than fifteen seconds later, he emerged from a floor panel just inside the stairs that curved around the elevator's CIC entrance. Shepard caught a glimpse of someone disappearing around the column. Satisfied, he slid the hatch shut, letting its near-silent click fade before moving on.

The CIC itself was bustling with activity. The panels surrounding the projection of the _Normandy_ flashed alternating colors, changing hues as orders were entered. Like the cargo bay, it was a scene of barely organized chaos, personnel walking with quick steps to their next task.

Shepard tapped into the main communicator, keying the signal to be broadcast to his earpiece. While he could have directed the audio to be put through the general speaker system, he doubted an admiral would appreciate having his conversation heard by anyone in the vicinity.

He cleared his throat. "This is Commander Shepard of the _Normandy_. How may I assist?"

The faint buzz of double-transmitted microphones reverberated in his ear a moment before its meaning became clear. _"I am Admiral Rael'Zorah. I wish to speak with Captain Anderson immediately, no more of this runaround!"_

Shepard sighed, upgrading the annoyance factor. _Great. Not just brass, but irritated, uptight alien brass._

He put as much of a genteel inflection to his voice as he could. "I understand that, sir, but he is locked in conference right now, and cannot be disturbed. Unless this is an emergency, the best that can be done is to leave a message that I will pass on at the Captain's earliest convenience."

A blast of static made Shepard wince. _"I don't care if the Captain is performing brain surgery on one of the Councilors! One of my people is in trouble on the Citadel, and Captain Anderson is the only man I trust to reach her safely!"_

"Ah." Shepard paused for a moment. _Potential emergency, rescue mission apparently. Or just a search … quarians don't seem to be respected outside Alliance space. What to do …._

The sound of elevator doors opening behind him caught his attention. Wheeling, he saw the Garrus exit the cargo carrier, sending a questioning tilt his way.

Thoughts clicked, chasing through the pathways of his mind. _As commanding officer, I am in charge while the Captain is out. For an away mission, again, Executive role. Blast it, my job either way. Nothing for it then._

"Admiral Zorah, as Commander of the _Normandy_ , I hereby recognize your request for aid." His fingers caressed the input panel on his omni-tool, sending an audio link to the turian detective. "What information can you give me?"

 _"I trust Anderson, not you, Commander Shepard. If you can't reach him, I'll find someone who can!"_ The voice nearly blasted Shepard's eardrums. By the flinch, the turian must have risked hearing loss as well.

Shepard took a breath, lowering his shoulders. Like a rapidly-cooling ingot, this was going to take patience and a little finesse. "Admiral, I am one hundred percent certain that Captain Anderson is not able to be reached. He and the Ambassador are under Most Secret security, that is to say – they can be contacted only for a declaration of war, or a direct order from Minister. What I can tell you is that I have worked with Captain Anderson for over ten years, both in the N7 corps and as his First Officer; I trust him with my life." He took a breath, pushing his voice into a no-nonsense growl. "If you want your quarian to get help as soon as possible, tell me where to start looking. When I give the word, I can have two dozen of the Alliance's finest on the hop within ten minutes. That's twenty-four of the best soldiers in the Alliance, deployed on a sovereign territory based solely on the word of a single man I have never met, just because he claims to know the Captain."

Garrus started to speak, but Shepard held up one hand, stopping him. The pause grew, becoming awkward with only the faint static showing that the line hadn't been shut down.

 _"Very well, Commander,"_ The quarian admiral admitted grudgingly. _"But I warn you, if she dies, I will have your command."_

Shepard raised an eyebrow. "Details, Admiral?" It was considered – improper – pushing an upper echelon in such a fashion, but the man had been fairly rude.

 _"Her name is Tali, a combat engineer. She was on Eden Prime during the attack, as was your vessel,_ _I am told."_ The admiral's voice became more professional, far more so than Shepard would have given him credit for earlier. _"I received a message that both she and her travelling partner had acquired data from a geth unit, and were attempting to reach the Council with that information."_

"Why not the Alliance?" Shepard asked. "Since it was on an Alliance colony?"

A heavy sigh emanated from the earpiece. _"From the message, they were attacked on Eden Prime by Saren's men, and escaped by stowing away on a freighter headed for the Citadel. Since it is their Pilgrimage, interference by the Admiralty is heavily frowned upon, and I let it go. Later, I received a second message, telling me that her partner had been killed, and she herself had suffered a suit puncture."_ The voice grew deeper, angrier, but mixed with something Shepard couldn't decipher. _"I cannot allow this to continue."_

There was a pause, and when the Admiral spoke, something Shepard couldn't interpret seemed to have crept into the quarian's voice. A nervous tone, almost deceptive in quality.

 _"Captain Anderson helped my people two years ago, and he is on the Citadel. You trust your Captain, and I will trust you."_

"Yes sir." Shepard pulled up his omni-tool. "Please send me all relevant data on this engineer of yours. Assuming she is mobile, I presume she knows how to reach you?"

 _"She is stubborn."_ Admiral Zorah responded dryly. _"But not stupid. I will send you her dossier, perhaps you will see something that I cannot. I have used up nearly every favor I have been owed on the Citadel trying to find her; she has to have hidden herself well."_

The omni-tool lit up on Shepard's arm, glowing a bright orange. It chimed a moment later, message icon flashing. "Data received." Shepard checked the file, watching it expand into a full profile. An image hovered in the top left corner, of a female quarian in a dark purple environment suit. Lines scrolled past the picture, highlighting data points. "Going through it now."

 _"Thank you, Commander._ _If it is possible, could you refrain from telling her of my involvement? The Admiralty interfering with a Pilgrimage could be … detrimental to her career. And … I'm sorry. For everything."_

"No apology necessary." Shepard slid one hand over to cut the omni-tool channel. "You look after your own; I can respect that. Anyone who wasn't concerned would not deserve the position."

There was a pause before the crackle returned. _"Indeed."_ The admiral's voice hesitated. _"Please, let me know as soon as you obtain results. Quietly."_

"Will do." Shepard sketched a salute, despite the lack of a video feed. " _Normandy_ , out."

The feed closed, leaving Shepard alone with his thoughts for a moment. _Two years ago … I remember that mission, we were working on a pirate case in the Kepler Verge – when did Anderson go to the Flotilla? It would have had to have been something high priority, but also able to be done in only a week …._

"Pardon, Commander." Garrus's voice broke in on his thought. "Did I hear that correctly? You're looking for a quarian from Eden Prime?"

Shepard turned. "Yes. Besides apparently being a friend to the Captain, maybe she has something we can use. Suggestions?"

The turian looked thoughtful. "Well, it's never been confirmed, but Barla Von has a reputation for being a Shadow Broker agent, he's a stockbroker in the Financial District up in the Presidium. But – Fist, a human that runs Chora's Den, would be a better bet."

"A stockbroker is less likely than a bar owner?" Shepard started tapping orders on his omni-tool. "Why?"

Garrus gave a turian shrug, "Fist has a bad reputation. He'll do anything for anyone, but it's fairly well known he has a decent side business with the Shadow Broker. Besides that, quarians almost never visit the Presidium. What is it humans say? Two birds, one throne?"

"Close." Shepard sent an alert to Alpha squad. Sending the same team on consecutive assignments wore them out faster; at this rate, he'd be using Charlie and Delta squads before the day was through. "'It's: Killing two birds with one stone.'"

The turian nodded. "That does make a bit more sense."

Rushing footsteps came up the stairs, tripping twice. Shepard turned halfway, presenting a profile towards the opening, one hand hovering over the collapsed pistol on his hip. He relaxed, letting the shoulder plates settle when Navigator Pressley's uniform appeared around the corner, jacket askew.

"Pressley, is something wr—" Shepard was unable to get the words out before being interrupted by the rapidly approaching Navigator.

"SAIS just sent the reports! Saren – ExoGeni –" the old man gasped, waving an electronic tablet desperately.

Shepard took the flat bit of plastic, scanning its open page. His eyebrows rose as he read, steadily rising until they almost joined his military-cut hair. The tiny letters scrambled across the transparent material under his gaze, like a mass of highly organized insects.

"Are these true?"

The Navigator nodded vigorously, standing straight once more. "I got them thirty minutes ago and cross referenced them with Detective Vakarian's data ten minutes ago." He gave the turian an acknowledging wave, more polite than what he'd been demonstrating before. "Sir, they match up. Spectre Arterius is a majority share-holder in ExoGeni stock. Almost twelve percent total shares."

Shepard whistled softly, lowering the data pad. "Imagine that. Did you find anything that Saren's particularly interested in?"

"Not yet." Pressley took back the device. "I've only run a few searches through the SAIS data, looking for large shares or investments. Once I start using a fine-toothed comb, I will have a more definitive answer."

"Excellent." Shepard waved him off. "The loading bay probably needs you more right now though, I have to go ashore for a while. Keep everything ship-shape while I'm out."

The Navigator saluted before hurrying back into the bowels of the ship. Shepard watched him go, pondering the old man's tidings. _Saren had to have started buying stock soon after ExoGeni_ _went public. Shares went past 400 credits apiece last year, no change in sight. Would they defend an investor, or throw him to the wolves? Bears thinking about._

"What is a – comb?" Garrus asked. "I understand what they _are_ , but how is it relevant to data files?"

Startled by the odd question, Shepard raised an eyebrow. "Um, that's …" his eyes focused on the turian's durable and notably hairless fringe. "Oh, I see. Think of it a small grooming implement used to stylize or otherwise manipulate hair."

The turian still looked puzzled.

Shepard guided them back to the elevator, silently accepting the slower pace as a consequence of their goal. "It's more of a metaphor for organizing thoughts into a more coherent pattern. A comb is used to work knots or tangles out of hair, so Pressley is trying to get rid of any yseless data bits."

Garrus nodded appreciatively. "Got it. Thank you."

Twitching one shoulder in acknowledgement, Shepard checked the time. _Less than fifteen hours. A lead in the first five hours? What are the odds?_

[break]

The Presidium was as open as Shepard remembered it. Miniature hills rose and fell along the edges of the water supply, small groups of people settling in to picnics, or just meandering through the brilliantly false sunshine. The latter made Shepard uncomfortable; not necessarily because of the people, but the utter lack of true clouds was unsettling.

 _No rain. No strong winds. This place is supposed to be paradise, but it feels dead._ He glanced at his companions thoughtfully. _I don't think it's just me though. Maybe we'll be able to exchange a trick or two, if we're going to be working together long enough._

To his left, Alenko was looking around almost as much as Shepard had been, but not nearly as subtly. To most, it would appear as if he were gawking like a common tourist … but a knowledgeable observer would infer from the armor that such behavior was more due to pre-battle jitters.

On his other side, Ashley was nearly stomping with all the grace of an angered bison. She had not been happy when he called her away from unpacking the new _Menelaus_ armor set. She hadn't refused to accompany them, no, she was too good a soldier to actually refuse … but he'd only requested her help, and her sense of honor had probably badgered her into leaving.

Shepard nodded to himself, and then barely avoided tripping over a low curb next to the sidewalk; no one caught his flailing arm. A suppressed snort came from somewhere behind him, confirming the hypothesis of an irritated Ashley. He stole a glance backward, then silently resolved to see if there were any extra goodies lying around in the near future, to enhance her armor set as an apology. Plus, keeping an angry Mech driver off his back was a good idea, if at all possible.

Something tickled the back of his mind, bringing his attention back to the path under their feet. The bridge, practically in front of C-Sec, led almost directly to the Financial District, a nearly straight route if contemplated from the right perspective. Suspiciously direct, but that was his paranoia, perhaps.

 _You're not paranoid if someone is actually out to get you._ His father's words echoed in his mind. Shepard glanced at the bridge again. _Straight lines, one dog's leg in the middle … almost a drawbridge if there weren't all those other bridges around._

"Commander," the flanged voice of their turian comrade spoke up from Shepard's back, "why are we going here first?"

 _Welcome back, Planet Garrus._ Shepard hid an amused smile; he wasn't sure, but the gesture might have possessed a different meaning to turians. "I believe you mentioned Mister Von would be a primary information source?"

"Yes," Garrus moved up into Shepard's line of sight. He looked slightly uncomfortable, likely due to the potential of informants listening. "But I also said … other people … might be more likely to help."

"Very true." Shepard turned, casting a single curious glance into the depths of the waters below. Nothing moved in its depths, not even a tentacle. "However, I would like to know as much about … ah … the informant … as possible. Since Barla Von is reputable, and has an excellent working relationship with most of his clients, I would assume he would be more than willing to assist on a matter of some – urgency."

 _Plus, I'm putting off heading back to Chora's as long as possible. Am I risking a life this way?_ He paused, examining his motives for a moment. _No, I really do need to talk to Mister Von first. If this Fist character is responsible for half of what I suspect goes on in the Den, I need every advantage possible._

He heard the detective exhale in exasperation.

"Relax, Vakarian," Shepard sensed Kaiden reach back to slap the turian's shoulder, an unexpected action, yet unsurprising. "Shepard knows what he's doing."

 _A good man._ Shepard mused. _He's very good at easing tension. Is it something he learned, or is it a natural gift? Whichever, it is a useful talent; no wonder he's assigned to the_ Normandy _._

He glanced up, noting the ubiquitous paneling that seemed to run the full length of the Citadel. Small, tasteful signs appeared underneath the reflective plating, informing pedestrians of the great honor being bestowed upon them, just by their being in close proximity to the penultimate merchant district in the galaxy. In this particular case, the sign for Barla Von, Financial Advisor, was somewhat gaudier than others, following in true Volus fashion.

The thought coaxed an amused snort from Shepard. Volus were some of the most intellectually gifted beings in the galaxy – so long as finance was involved. Logistics, shipping costs, product advocacy … anything devoted to making a fortune was considered a worthy endeavor by the little people. Other things, like inventing a new impulse drive, or making a successful First Contact, was out of their frame of reference; probably why they were yet to be counted among the Council members.

"We're here." Ashley commented, bringing Shepard out of his reverie.

He blinked, thinking. _Who to take, which would be better for this, mm? Ashley the warrior, or Kaiden the diplomat?_ Reality hit him with the force of sarcasm. _Right. Leave the short-tempered soldier with a member of the biggest military force opposing her._

"Williams, you're with me. Garrus, Kaiden, keep an eye out here." Shepard unconsciously gave the shorthand advance finger-signal, prompting Ashley to reach his side in one stride.

The biotic and the detective drifted back to the protective walls next to the water course while he approached the door. Shepard refrained from giving them a final once-over; they were professionals and he would treat them as such.

The door hissed shut behind Shepard, the strangely transparent metal slats allowing light to cast a shadow at his feet. That was one other aspect of the Citadel that had annoyed him; the technology no one understood, but trusted. The years after his first introduction to the contradiction-that-was-the-Citadel had yet to change his mind.

"May I – sst – help you?" A mellow tenor, broken by the rasping breaths of ventilation emanated from behind a large desk.

Shepard stepped forward. "Barla Von?"

The yellow circles brightened, apparently reacting to a command from within the suit. The traditional black-on-white coloration of his exo-suit was overwhelmingly dominant against the beige coloring of the room.

As per the normal protocols required for exo-suits, the little alien's vocoder blinked as he spoke. Some obscure regulation referring to deaf beings … possibly the hanar, given their proclivity for legislation. "Commander Shepard – sst – it is an honor to meet you – sst – an honor indeed."

Shepard raised an eyebrow. "I'm surprised you know me on sight. Few non-humans take the time to memorize random human faces."

Hissed laughter met his words. "Hardly – sst – random, Commander. Your selection as a potential agent of the Council was – sst – and is – sst – a hotly debated topic – sst – among certain circles. I watch the markets – sst – it is my calling. To know the changing winds of the market – sst – I must know those who blocks the breeze."

Shepard snorted, amused. Then, his eyes froze on a small symbol emblazoned on the financial advisor's left arm. He _knew_ that symbol. "In that case, I am very pleased to make your acquaintance, Bank-Master. May I introduce my comrade-in-arms, Chief Ashley Williams?" He ignored the surprised motion from Ashley's hands.

"But of course! – sst – Any companion of Shepard is a worthy acquaintance to make." The chubby stockbroker bowed in her direction. "Well met, Chief Williams."

"Um, thank you." Ashley responded. Her eyes caught Shepard's, confusion obvious.

He felt a grin tug at one side of his mouth, enjoying her discomfiture. "The Chief is one of our top heavy armor specialists, but has demonstrated a keen mind. I hope you do not mind my bringing her along for this session?"

Von waved one hand deprecatingly. "It is of no consequence – sst – I have been meaning to speak with you as well, Commander."

"Really." Shepard glanced at the tiny etching once more. "I have a wonder myself: why did a Bank-Master accept a position so far from a Volus Repository? If memory serves, the nearest authorized banking center is more than two systems away."

Even through the thick material of the ammonia-containing exo-suit, Von's pleasure was evident. "Likely the same reason you came to me – sst – instead of another investment specialist. – sst—"

Shepard nodded slowly, respectfully. "If you have a few minutes, I'd like to ask about a … businessman, if you will. He's the owner of The Chora's Den down in the Wards."

He received the impression of raised eyebrows from the small alien. "That is – sst – very interesting, Commander Shepard. – sst – very interesting indeed."

"Why?" Ashley blurted out. She had the decency to look embarrassed when both Shepard and Von looked at her. "I gotta stop doing that … um, I mean, why is that so interesting? Sir?"

The volus leaned back in the low chair behind his desk. "A good question Chief – sst – yes. You see, as you already have guessed," he gave Shepard a knowing look. "I also deal in information – sst – something that is always a valuable commodity. – sst – as it happens. I am good at my job."

Shepard didn't change his expression. "Then you know about Fist?"

Barla Von winced. "Bluntly put – sst – I can see why you chose Chief Williams to be here."

He shrugged, while Ashley seemed to fight down a reaction. "She speaks her mind. It's a refreshing change from the politics I have to deal with from time to time."

"A gift you are wise to appreciate." Von intoned. "Now. – sst – as you said, Fist is an … unusual problem."

"He's an agent of the Shadow Broker, is he not?" Shepard raised an eyebrow questioningly. "I'm looking for a quarian that may have gone to him for aid."

"Yes … in the past, you would have been right." Von agreed quickly, "but now – sst – Fist has decided to turn his resources to a new employer. Spectre Saren Arterius."

Shepard's hands clenched. The memory of soft fur, of a child's abandoned toy made phantom motions across his fingertips. This time, he had to make a conscious effort to quell the anger, disturbing in its intensity. "This is unusual, I take?"

"Most definitely." Von rose to his feet, rocking his rotund frame. "I would not be in the profession I am if I did not learn things from time to time. The Shadow Broker has never taken betrayal lightly – sst – but he takes care of his own. That is why the situation is so – sst – unusual."

"Why." Shepard leaned forward, focusing on the twin lenses of the volus's helmet. Something felt off, like he was being played once more, toyed with like a disposable implement. _Unacceptable. My terms, or none._

The volus sighed. "Commander – sst – I believe that Mister Fist has had his fate decided. I have heard that – sst – one of the most dependable mercenaries in the galaxy has been – sst – employed to … ah … terminate the contract."

"Why are you telling us this?" Ashley's eyes were suspicious, glinting at the so-called financial expert. "What do you want in return?"

Shepard agreed silently, but kept his expression neutral. _He didn't have to tell us that. Basics of exchange; professional courtesy is not necessary, but helps so much. I hate the game, but there is no denying its benefits._

"I believe the Broker is … impressed … with your people, Commander Shepard." Von admitted. "I know that, just when I took my place on this station, I purchased information from him. He – sst – sent out an observation order … before your people became generally known. – sst – I have my suspicions, but the evidence is plain. – sst – The Shadow Broker knew your people would be arriving on the galactic scene before you arrived. – sst – He plays for long term gains."

"Obviously." Shepard's mind was working on the new information furiously. "But what does that have to do with Fist?"

"At the moment? Nothing." Von spread his talons expressively. "I would – sst – advise you to hurry, if you wish to reach him first … but remember: you are being watched."

Ashley snorted quietly. "Is that a good thing, or a bad thing?"

"That," Barla Von looked at her cautiously, "Depends on how you – sst – look at it."

 _Now, blunt or careful?_ Shepard wondered, _I hate to beat around the bush, but he never actually confirmed working for the Broker. Wait, no. Stupid brainless idiot. He just told you to hurry; speed is of the essence, and he appreciates that._

"Right." Shepard said aloud, flexing the larger muscles in his upper arms, unfolding them at the same time. "Last thing before we go; do you know whom Saren Arterius uses as his primary investment advisor? I would like to get as much information as possible."

The volus stiffened. "I'm afraid I cannot assist you in this matter – sst – although I do wish I could."

Shepard looked at him carefully. The easy, affable manner shown by the volus had become more subdued, making tiny circular motions with his talons. If the diminutive alien had been a member of a more aggressive race, the motions would've been hinting at a possible electronic attack.

"The Goyle Treaty allows me to request information on persons-of-interest to the Alliance." Shepard lowered his shoulders slightly. "Check the Volus Proctorate Inter-Species Listing; it should be under part three, Chapter nine."

The little volus bobbed his head thoughtfully, lenses flashing pensively. "You have that right – sst – that is true. But there would be fewer –sst – repercussions … if you were to have the authority of a Spectre behind your request."

Ashley rolled her eyes. "Yeah, and if we had a Councilor at our back, we could just ask Saren to ship himself to Eden Prime, wearing a big pink bow."

Shepard chuckled under his breath. The mental image she had conjured, was amusing to say the least. He shook his head, clearing the sight. "While I understand the easier process, Bank-Master, why would I solicit a Spectre when I can ask you right now?"

Barla Von's lenses brightened. "A _good_ question, Commander. – sst – Why would it be better for a Spectre to ask?"

 _He's trying to tell me something._ Shepard thought. _Something quiet … but I have to hurry. Two questions and then we go. But why … security, obviously. Saren is very high security – he probably doesn't need to run his own security outside his own hardware, the Spectre position alone would insure confidentiality. Can I say that without getting in trouble?_

"Well," he deliberated, "Would it be linked to how highly positioned Saren – ah – some people are placed?"

"Correct, Commander," the chubby alien almost bounced as his talons clicked together. "Telling people things is so much easier – sst – when asked by the right person."

 _Bingo_. Realization struck Shepard. _But better confirm it …._

"So then," he took care to frame the question as innocently as possible, "if the wrong person started asking questions about – say – one of the most important figures in your society, it could be considered a threat, yes?"

" _Very_ good, Commander. Yes, that is a potential problem. –sst – Of course, this is all hypothetical, so there need be no consultation fee or report."

"Of course, of course." Shepard bowed respectfully. "No need to go through the trouble on my account, Bank-Master. However, should anything cross your desk you believe I might be interested in, please let me know. I am willing to pay handsomely."

Barla Von bowed in return. "My door is always open to you, Commander Shepard. – sst – If you should … hear anything interesting … I would appreciate a similar policy, if that is – sst – agreeable?"

"Eminently." Shepard headed for the door, motioning Ashley to precede him. As he paused, letting her pass, one hand fished near his belt slipping a small white square from a gold-hued container before flicking it into his mouth. The pungent spearmint flavor helped sharpen his awareness … except for noting the door frame was slightly further out than anticipated. He tripped, pitching forward almost on his knees when Ashley caught his shoulder, heaving him back on his feet.

She showed him her teeth, laughing quietly. "Careful Commander, or I'll be wishing you a nice trip, see you next fall."

"Ha." Shepard maintained an even expression. "Testing the gravity fluctuations is not a task for the weak-of-heart, Chief."

He pretended to ignore the strangely familiar sound she made, something high-pitched and repetitive in nature, like a snort but longer. It reminded him of the giggles Katrina had performed, whenever he'd played some particularly funny joke for her benefit.

 _Maybe, this time, it will be all right._ The thought warmed him, like a fresh mug of cider on a cold evening. _You can't replace the ones you've lost … but it's not fair to them, if you keep them at arm's reach forever. But … no. Commanders are the evil minion of the Captain; making friends isn't in the job list. Maybe I shouldn't have accepted Anderson's offer so quickly, if I'd known it was going to be this hard._

"Kaiden, Garrus, we need to move." Shepard shoved the ruminating depths of his mind deeper, shelving the thought until there was more time to dwell on it properly. The mental shift reverted him to business mode. "Alenko, get Alpha squad to hit the Wards. We're headed to Chora's Den."

"Again?" A quiet voice muttered behind him.

He ignored it. There were too many things happening, needing to happen. "Eyes open, there's a krogan with a contract probably ahead of us. Those bad boys don't wait around, so let's hustle!"

Shepard heard the vague acceptance behind him as he started jogging for the transit terminal. Eyes were beginning to angle his way, but the damage had been already done long before. _Fist might have eyes up here, but if they were competent, they'd have let him know I entered Von's place long before I got out. No need to get sloppy … intentionally anyway._

He cued up the next available taxi, tapping one foot intentionally.

"Sir, Alpha Lead is on the line. He wants to know if mech armor is allowed." Kaiden had one hand held to his ear, the omni-tool link touching his earpiece to permit contact.

"No." Shepard didn't hesitate. "We don't roll the heavies in unless it's an absolute emergency."

"Understood, sir." Kaiden angled away from him, already speaking into his headset in a lower voice.

Shepard caught the irritated glance from Ashley. He maneuvered to her side, leaning slightly, the better to keep his voice down. "We're pushing the Council a lot right now, bringing a fully armed squad. I have the authority – barely – but power armor on the Citadel could be considered an act of war."

She frowned. "Got it. Don't like it, but I got it."

A thought struck his mind. "Actually … we might want to let C-Sec know we're coming, professional courtesy if nothing else."

"Bringing in the aliens?" Ashley's face twitched, arms stiffening, "Sir, it's our problem. We should be able to take care of it ourselves."

A taxi whirred next to the dock drowned out any response he was going to make, freezing as the magnetic clamps held it in place. Shepard held his peace as they entered the blood red vehicle, entering the new coordinates after the door closed.

As the taxi took off, Shepard turned sideways catching Garrus's eye. "Detective, I am about to commit a near-illegal operation. It's legal, but in order to keep from stroking feathers the wrong way, I am informing you of my intent."

The turian's pupils narrowed. "I understand the words 'near-illegal' and 'operation' Commander, but the feathers reference is escaping me."

Shepard sighed. "I'm going to hit Chora's Den, with the intent to shoot anyone and anything in my way. If C-Sec wants any control of the situation, tell them to either get there on the double, or stay out of my way. Politely."

The turian's mandibles dropped in what Shepard could only describe as a hungry lust. "Um, Commander … could you use another gun? After I tell the Executor, he might want someone to – keep an eye on you."

"Depends." Shepard looked him straight in the eye. "Can you shoot?"

Garrus laughed softly, a barking rasp that wouldn't have been out of place in a jackal pack. "I was the Sharpshooter for my platoon, my entire service. First place for the Menae competition, and the sniper on call for C-Sec operation." The facial plates re-oriented themselves confidently. "I'm a damn sight better than 'all right.'"

"Done." Shepard nodded. "Once we get there, keep an eye out for whomever the was sent after Fist. If we have to take him down, do it, but I'd rather talk first if possible. Von said he was one of the best in the galaxy, so he has to be smart."

Garrus shrugged. "If he's who I think you you're talking about, you have a chance. Urdnot Wrex was reported as coming aboard the Citadel yesterday; he just got out of questioning this morning. He's smart; smarter than most krogan. That makes him one of the most dangerous people in the galaxy."

Shepard's eyebrows went up. "Any chance I could hire him?"

The detective shook his head pensively. "Chance, yes. Good chance, no. He's got a kinda odd pattern for contracts, haven't been able to figure it out yet. Sometimes he seems downright honorable, then he goes and kills three asari in cold blood. Not that it could be proved, of course." He shivered slightly.

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it." Shepard checked his omni-tool. The dull glow registered his gaze, brightening to show its screen. "I'm giving you an encryption channel, be careful with it."

While the turian opened a new channel, beginning what was sounding like an argument of – _legendary_ – proportions, Shepard sat back, focusing on breathing quietly. The thought that a quarian was threatened, a species nominally under the Alliance's aegis, burned his soul like a lit coal. _This didn't happen on Eden Prime, and I lost good men there. Ashley lost more, and I didn't feel this … what's happening to me?_

* * *

 **A/N: Hello all, and glad to be back! Classes are going well, if taking a lot of my time. My apologies for the long wait, but priorities place my class work ahead of my writing :(**

 **One note: The cameo of the HMS _Baldwide_ and Captain Weathers is there in honor of an author colleague, whom's father passed away.**

 **Next chapter is being written even as I type. My laptop is falling apart, but it's the fourth time I'm bringing it in, so I'm hoping Best Buy policy will be followed and I'll get a new one. Everything is backed up, and progress has been made.**

 **Finally, shout out to the Dawn of Titans fic being written by Andotrota, F13D and myself. It's been a blast going through the stories of other authors, and actually having an impact on how they see a story. Thanks guys!**

 **Until next time!**


	7. Crime and Punishment

_Asari are some of the most advanced people in the galaxy – and one of the most primitive. The dichotomy of that statement earns the unwary spokesman perhaps just enough time to say one more sentence_ _before he is blasted into a wall by an irate member of the aforementioned species. But that only proves my point._

 _Shepard was unique_ _in ways he never knew, initially. His survival of the Beacon had piqued the interest of Prothean specialists across the galaxy. Unfortunately for them, no one was available to interrogate him about his experience; Doctor T'Soni, as he was unconscious. Not that he would have responded well to such treatment. Shepard had many good qualities: patience, cunning and compassion. But he severely disliked manipulation; separating him from his self-appointed mission would have backfired spectacularly. He'd always been a bit – hasty, in some ways._

 _It should be noted that Tali'Zorah, Garrus Vakarian and Urdnot Wrex joined Shepard against my recommendation. I was wrong, I freely admit … but my logic was sound:_ _How could so many qualified individuals be found in such a short time? Think tanks have spent decades seeking the best qualified minds, and organizations can take between weeks and years to fill out their roster. Shepard managed the feat in less than ten hours._

 _~Dr. Arnold Pavenmeyer_

 _Project Ragnorak Files_

* * *

Shepard counted to ten, waited for another set, then reversed the count back to zero. He began a breathing exercise, inhaling for a count of four, holding it, and then following through with an extended exhalation for a count of six. That helped, reducing the irritation he was feeling to tolerable levels.

To his left, Lieutenant Alenko stood at attention, not quite parade rest, but close enough to appear professionally relaxed. On his right, Chief Williams made no disguise of her frustration, her feet planted as if to withstand a charging krogan.

Shepard's eyes narrowed. _It's been fifteen minutes now, ten minutes too many. How long has Vakarian spent with that Executor of his?_ He checked his omni-tool, _Over half an hour since we left the_ _ship, fifteen since we got here. Call it forty-five minutes, give or take. This is a potential hostage situation._ _Time is of the essence._

The turian in question appeared, practically dragging another turian with him. Vakarian's mouth was moving, but Shepard couldn't hear what was being said. The body language was more than enough; whoever was with his associate exhibited a definite reluctance, hostility even.

 _Let me see, what would work best on a turian in this situation … 'orders from above?' No, he has orders of his own. 'I am your superior?' Definitely not, he's not a member of the Alliance._ The thought triggered a secondary logic chain. _Investigation by a foreign power, with treaties in place. Equal but separate … good enough._

Shepard waited for the two, shifting his posture to one of expectance, something turians were more likely to answer. He raised an eyebrow, adding an imperial edge to the glare as they approached. "Well?"

Vakarian looked up sharply, apparently surprised by his tone; the other stiffened, stretching to his full seven foot height. The motion apparently triggered something, causing Vakarian to straighten himself, looking Shepard straight in the eye. A touch of formality entered his voice. "Sir, this is Executor Venari Pallin, Operations Chief of Citadel Security." He turned to Pallin, "Sir, this is Commander Karl Shepard, Level Seven IST Operative, Executive Officer of the Normandy, and lead Alliance Investigator in the Spectre incident."

 _Let the games begin._ Shepard adjusted his posture, as one welcoming an equal to a well-needed rest. _He's good, so be better. Don't mess this up Shepard._

"Executor, thank you for seeing me on such short notice," he held out an arm in the traditional turian combatant grip, seizing the older turians arm in a tight grasp. "Detective Vakarian told me about the situation. We'll need C-Sec if we're going to pull this off right."

Pallin's eye ridge rose, flickering between Vakarian and Shepard. "Commander, Vakarian here was just feeding me some – "

"Understood," Shepard interrupted briskly. "I'm afraid he underestimated the situation; it's gotten worse and we do not have much time. How many officers do you have available for a hostage situation?"

The Executor was forced to turn, eye ridges falling to a threat posture, crest mantling. "Hostage? What's going on, Vakarian told me it was an investigation, with a chance of combat."

 _He's smart, cuts right to the important things._ Shepard found himself forced to admit. _But he's an officer; when something runs, he has to chase. Standard engrained behavior, even if he's more intelligent than the average donut-scarfer._

Twisting as he walked, Shepard gave Pallin his most serious expression. "It got worse. In Alliance circles, Fist is suspected to be collaborating with several underworld bosses, and it's a given he's not very friendly with the law. Now, Fist has recently received information on an engineer that was on Eden Prime … and immediately cut ties with former employers afterward. That tells me he's up to something, either about to move out or make a power play."

Pallin growled, the dual tones in his throat vibrating ominously. "Fist has been a thorn in my side ever since he arrived. If your authority can be proven, I'll help any way I can." He growled again, deeper, making an innate fear crawl down Shepard's spine. He noticed Kaiden shudder, while Williams stiffened. _Don't forget; turians are predators, very capable ones._

Without pause, he nodded at the detective drifting to his back right, "There is not much time. An armed member of the Migrant Fleet has been captured, and is being held in the location known as Chora's Den."

Shepard stopped, using his wider profile to make an impression, leaning closer to the taller man, "My credentials are on file with C-Sec, we've done some work in the past. Right now, we have to move. Like you said, he has been almost untouchable, suspiciously so, wouldn't you say? This is the best opportunity we've had in a long time."

"Done. Make your preparations Commander. I'll make the call. Anything else I should know?"

 _Good. Now for a minor concession._ "I was hoping you would be amenable to lending the Detective for the operation. I need someone who knows your people, and he's already familiar to my people."

"Fine, fine. He's on leave right now; what he chooses to do with his off time is his business." Pallin waved a hand, favoring the detective with a turian scowl. "Just, don't bother the Commander with any of your lost causes, understood Vakarian?"

The turian's mandibles fluttered in a grimace. "Yes sir."

The C-Sec Executor moved away, omni-tool glowing the ever-present orange. It had barely flared to life when he started chattering orders. Shepard couldn't hear exactly what was being said, but the words 'Zakera Ward,' 'code blue' and 'diplomatic incident' were mentioned in rapid succession.

 _Excellent progress, from nothing to cooperating C-Sec officials._ Shepard gave his own squad a hand signal, and moved ahead. _Good._

"Sir," Williams moved closer, rifle still in compact mode but ready to deploy, "SAIS sent a message, Joker routed it through."

Shepard groaned, audibly. _Those pinheads. What do they want now?_

"Um, sir?" Williams hesitated at his reaction.

"Continue, Chief. I've just had a lot of interaction with Intelligence." Shepard didn't finish the statement as he wanted. _None of whom lived in SAIS._

"Yes, uh, they wanted you to carry something in with you, a device of some sort." Williams picked up the pace, lowering her voice as she got closer. "They've been trying to get someone into the C-Sec action teams for a while."

Shepard gave a quick look over his shoulder; fortunately, most of the C-Sec personnel were well out of range. The turian detective was currently deep in conversation with Alenko, a distraction by design if the Lieutenant's previous actions held true. He took the opportunity to scowl. "If SAIS wants to send in an agent, they can send their own. I'm not stopping them."

The gunnery chief snorted in amusement. "I don't blame you, but you might get in trouble."

"Let them howl." Shepard exited the C-Sec lobby, punching the green switch. "I've done them enough favors to justify a paycheck equal to their best agent. Lord only knows what they'd want me to do if I actually went full time for them."

That small bit of business over, Shepard moved on to the next point. Getting to the actual focus point. The route from C-Sec headquarters to the Chora's Den 'gentleman's club' was as short as before … but different.

The hall looked emptier than he'd remembered from the last visit; no one was travelling the dull metal floors at all this time. Not that he blamed them; the place looked like a dungeon from some twisted man's imagination, what with the dark colors, harsh lighting and multi-story drop-offs. Shiny streaks, remnants from the gun battle that had occurred so recently, still marred the walls.

Shepard checked his sidearm, certifying its position by touch. He had one of the fastest draws in the Alliance, but speed meant nothing if there was nothing to use.

"Have you worked for them?" Williams had her assault rifle out, lowered to a non-threatening position. "Intelligence, I mean. The stories going around don't say much either way."

"Which indicates I work for them?" Shepard commented. "That's the game they play. The story goes that those who work for SAIS are discrete, competent people while the bumbling braggarts with hundreds of supposedly successful missions are merely peripheral allies. Wait …."

A large krogan, wearing red and black armor appeared in Shepard's peripheral vision. He was lumbering with surprising speed in the very direction they were traveling. The number of weapons on his back, as well as the unlimbered shotgun in his hands, was not indicative of an amicable approach.

"Hold onto that thought." Shepard sped up. "Excuse me, sir. You don't want to go this way."

The krogan spared him a look, then took a longer moment. Then he shook his head, and kept going.

Shepard took an extra-long step, getting in front of the krogan. "Sir, you are entering a live-fire area. Please take another route."

The krogan chuffed, glaring at Shepard. "There's 'live fire' wherever a krogan goes, human. Out of my way, I have no quarrel with you."

"I might have one with you, if you're going after the same target I am." Shepard pitched his voice lower, more threatening.

That brought the krogan to a halt. The lights on his shotgun started to glow as the thick digits played over the controls. "Are you challenging me for the hunt, human?"

Shepard stepped back, letting the full weight of his armored form ring against the floor. "Commander Shepard, _SSV Normandy_. I have a hostage situation, and a full two squads of Alliance Marines lining up shots on Chora's Den. I don't care what you do _after_ I get my hostage, but I want her alive."

The krogan gave him another long, slow look. Then, the shotgun's lights dimmed, and the weapon contracted into its compact form. "Wrex. Mercenary, hired to kill Fist. You try stopping me, and I'll go through you – but if you want to thin out the defenses for me, I can live with that."

"Generous." Shepard glanced at Alenko, then back at the krogan. "You want to ride shotgun? I could always use another capable hand."

A hissed breath somewhere behind his left shoulder hinted someone hadn't liked that idea. The krogan's eyes had flickered in that direction as well. Whatever he'd seen must not have scared him too much, however.

"I'll fight with you, Shepard," Wrex growled out. A tridactyl hand extended, with more muscle on the limb than some human legs.

Shepard was familiar with the gesture, and imitated it, grasping the forearm a few inches above the gauntlet, similar to the greeting he'd shared with Executor Pallin. It was an old krogan custom, usually practiced by the older members or the more formal turians. So far as Shepard knew, it had also become an intergalactic habit among certain mercenaries – although that little tidbit was solely due to a 'vacation' on Omega. _A long, tiring, disgusting vacation, with few redeeming qualities._

Shaking the memory, he started for the doors again. One hand tapped his earpiece, "Alpha squad what's your position?"

A deep, hoarse voice came back, making the tiny transceiver shake in his ear. _"Lieutenant Sigurd, Alpha squad here; we're inbound, sir, two minutes at full trot. We can be there in fifty seconds if you want."_

"Make it so." Shepard glanced at the C-Sec regulars, gathering around the entrance to the main hall. They were loitering; he knew the signs; the half-hearted gesticulations, the meandering steps, no need to rush for an ignorant foreigner. _Time to shake them up a little._ "Tell Charlie squad to go the next level down, and watch our signal. No telling how far we'll have to go on this."

 _"Roger wilco. Alpha lead clear."_

Within forty seconds, the rumble of pounding feet could be heard. Several of the C-Sec officers started looking around, obviously pinpointing the sound. One asari officer drew a side-arm, off hand poised in the mnemonic Throw gesture. She was evidently a role model for the others; as soon as her pistol cleared leather, there was a miniature storm of whirrings as over twenty C-Sec officers followed suit.

"Those are my people," Shepard spoke up hastily, "Friendlies inbound."

The officer in charge barked something foreign, and the weapons went back down. Most of them, anyway.

Alpha squad came running around the last bend, a formidable sight, even if Shepard wouldn't say it out loud. They were in an unmistakably military formation, jogging in two rows of a half-dozen each.

Most of the humans were as wide as, or wider than their C-Sec counterparts. Even the women had more mass per meter than the turians. The asari members looked svelte in comparison though, especially with armor that conformed to their figures, but the human females exuded a more stalwart presence. Whereas the asari walked with a purposeful strut, the humans nearly stomped by comparison.

 _Well, that's not one hundred percent true._ Shepard thought. _Turians often have superior shoulder breadth, but their waist ratio is way off. Like they need a sandwich or two hundred._

While he was reminiscing, Alpha squad reached his position and stood at attention. Shepard returned the salute, carefully watching the C-Sec observers. "Recon; light assault and scouts, I want eyes on a full three sixty. Everyone else, support the lead elements. Clear?"

"Crystal, sir!" The lead soldier saluted again.

Shepard had to take a step back mentally. _Blond hair, six foot ten if he's an inch, over a hundred kilos … and he mentioned his name on the com. Stupid Shepard._

"Lieutenant Sigurd, good of you to make it. You and your lads watch me for the kill signal, all right?"

The big man's mustache twitched upwards. "Aye, Commander. You give the order, and we'll make it rain fire for you."

* * *

Shepard ignored the mutters, it was the nattering of small minds, and he had work to do. Without making it obvious, he checked his accompanying squad. Kaiden stood on his right, Williams to his left. Wrex and Garrus brought up the rear, shotgun and long rifle at the ready.

He hid a smirk. It sounded like a joke: an Alliance squad, a turian, and a krogan walked into a bar. There had to be a punchline somewhere.

One of the C-Sec guards froze, touching the side of his helmet. Shepard noted more hands going up and automatically sent a subvocal request for a wide-band scan. By the time it was performed, though, the officer was turning towards him.

"Sir, the main doors are closed, locked down. Looks like ship armor, too."

"Fist knows we're coming," Garrus observed. "Someone must've talked."

Shepard swallowed back an annoyed statement; the Citadel locals had probably been vying for better payment since Attila the Hun. What was a more valuable commodity than information? Speeding up, he rounded the final corner, checking for himself.

The doors loomed at the end of the hall like he'd remembered, still resplendent in their garish lighting. This time however, the brushed metal walls had an ominous tint to them, like a faint oily liquid had been applied sometime recently. It felt vaguely like a childish attempt at a haunted house, but rapidly becoming more intimidating by the moment. The doors looked different as well; more artificial than the last time he'd visited. _Recent additions, most likely. A man with connections would have no trouble acquiring improvements at short notice._

"Charlie squad; Jensen, you there?" Shepard kept his voice down.

 _"Aye Commander, Lieutenant Jensen here. We're in position. Orders?"_ The return was crisp, a welcome respite from the static-filled transmissions so often heard in the field.

"Keep an eye out. Things are looking a bit heavier than normal. Watch your corners, and make sure everyone gets back to the ship today." It was a needless instruction, but needed to be said.

 _"Roger wilco, Commander. Charlie squad out."_

Shepard glared at the doors, feeling the anger building up again. Inside those bits of metal lay a realm he'd hated ever since – a time he preferred to not remember. It was possible there were stripper joints where the workers were paid good wages, protected from assault, and allowed to go home at a reasonable time … but he hadn't encountered any. To be fair, he hadn't gone as a customer, just business. That might have been a skewed viewpoint; but even if not, the business would still rankle him.

Most were fronts for other operations. Any business that dealt in carnal human entertainment was suspect in his opinion, but the cruder solicitations were just the most blatant indicators. What he'd seen in the Den was a place that sanitized only when inspectors were near-by, not because someone actually wanted it clean. The laughing customers hadn't been genuinely amused, just desperate to get their minds off of something … and the bartenders weren't any better.

He cudgeled his memory, trying to retrieve every bit of data seen while chasing Harkin. The grimy tables were obvious, as were the somewhat disheveled servers. Their body language had been more of tiredness than fear, which was good in this case. But, there was something about how the room was built; a large circle. It had been repurposed from some unknown original function, much like everything else on the Citadel. Many recesses, hidden openings.

That … and a memory floated up from the depths of his mind. Darkened corners, faint movements hidden by shadows. Like people sneaking a quick smoke, but the eyes reflected hadn't been tinted that way. Server uniforms were worn, but the stench of terror covered their eyes.

Mentally, he snapped his fingers. _You missed it, you freaking walked through the entire place and you missed it! Loud noises, people going in and out, it's the perfect front._ Shepard tried thinking back, the statistics he'd memorized for one of his journeys through Council space. Standard colonies had a yearly runaway average in the low dozens; larger worlds increased that to the low hundreds. Homeworlds had thousands every day; but space stations the size of the Citadel were a different. _The number of missing persons from this level is incredibly high. All the servers and bouncers at the Den, such a high turnover rate … how many came through there? Fist had more than a side business in trafficking._

Opening his eyes, he focused on the heavy gauge doors, willing them into submission. _Too many witnesses, or I'd see what a full-power Warp could do. Maybe one of those asari …? No. Alternate methods, just as fast. This is an Alliance operation. We have to take the initiative._ His eyes closed again. _How could I have been so blind?_

He knew why, though. The uncomfortable sensation of just _being_ in the stripper joint, watching all that potential being wasted, witnessing burgeoning talent being _encouraged_ to die shaking on a table … yet he was forced to do nothing. He had allowed emotion to override logic. It was an easy trap, inverse to the obvious temptation. One beckoned to forget the world in favor of hedonistic pleasure; the other lured you into callousness, locking everything out. _Stupid, stupid Shepard!_

"Right." He glared at the door. "Heavies, get a door-knocker ready. We're looking a probable count of over a dozen hostiles, krogan human mix. No asari, few turian." The Den's floorplan appeared in his mind, probabilities flickering. "Vakarian, watch for shooters on the center high rise." He swept the rest of his squad with his eyes. "Ready?"

One of the squad members raised a hand. "Can we try hacking the lock?"

The soldier received a hasty jab in the ribs, but Shepard nodded appreciation. "Good question. Fist knows we're coming, and locked the place tight. We could try an electronic attack, but it would take time, and possibly give him a head start if he's got a link set up. Any other questions?"

Mute head shaking answered him, letting him savor the anticipation before giving the next order. " Heavies, forward!"

Alpha squad shoved their way to the front, heavy weaponry at hand. Eager eyes looked at him, waiting for the command.

For one small moment, Shepard lowered his control, letting himself feel the thrill, enjoying the emotional high. Adrenaline coursed through his veins, heightening perception, slowing time, or at least speeding the perceptions. Some of the N7 had actual implants stimulating similar reactions on demand, but that was borderline drug addiction. _Better to command yourself, then to allow emotion to command you. Cold is better than hot. Every time._

He nodded.

The three heavy marines took a kneeling position, and fired. Two grenades and an anti-armor rocket crossed the twenty-five meters in an eye-blink, rocket landing just ahead of the smaller explosives. The door, unlike most of its kin on the Citadel, was made of a single sheet, reinforced to withstand a rambunctious crowd. It was standard for bad neighborhoods, synonymous with the Old Earth bars and chains.

The barrage dented the main portion of the door which, while sturdy, wasn't designed for military assault. The material caved inwards, twisted inwards by the impact. One of the corners, proving the second-rate nature of the addition, curled inwards, leaving a gap.

Quick as a striking snake, one of the marines shifted targets and placed another grenade through the hole. The other two repeated their earlier action, launching a second attack on the door.

This time, though, just as the telltale hissing click of the rocket triggers sounded, the armored door slid open. It wasn't a gradual shift, opening at incremental intervals, but at a rate making the bent edges scream almost like a hurt living thing. It was unexpected, but completely in keeping with Shepard's mood.

As a side benefit, the projectiles met no resistance, leaving a vapor trail that lead into the dark interior. A moment after that, the walls vibrated under the force of the resulting explosion. A brief, fiery burst flickered and went out.

Shepard was charging, pistol drawn, before the noise faded. "Go – go – go!"

Alenko and Williams, to their credit, moved a half second after he did. He trusted their movements, pushing himself hard, harder into the opening. It was an old assault rule: hit hard and fast before anyone could react. The inverse was equally true: wait for the mindless charge and shred whatever came through before it could react.

As he entered the smoking depths of Chora's Den, he noted that the place was already filled with the shrill cries of men in pain. An odd stuttering sound emanated from deeper within its sordid depths, like a woodpecker on steroids, hammering on metal with the strength of a demon.

Shepard stopped short. There was a quarian, half-kneeling behind a dead human that had a gap in his armor large enough to fit a fist through. The quarian herself was not an unusual sight. Delta squad, still on the Normandy, was composed mostly of quarian volunteers. What was unusual in this case was that she – definitely a she – had a strange double-barreled device in her hands, and no armor. A quarian without the protective outer layer of her enviro-suit was just one sharp accident from analeptic shock.

To his somewhat less surprised eyes, the room had bodies spread around its interior. Multiple turrets hummed, swiveling in slow circles; expensive things capable of taking on waves of krogan without pausing. The scrape marks on the floor by the base of their frames betrayed haste.

"Kill zone." Shepard pointed at the turrets, "See how they're arranged? Symmetric positions, all around the room. Overlapping fire lanes, probably controlled by a central command node."

The quarian stood up, slowly lowering her shotgun. "That's right. Easy enough to override, if you have the right equipment."

Shepard holstered his side-arm. "Commander Shepard, the _Normandy_. You are …?"

Her body language relaxed. "Tali'Zorah vas Neema, and very glad you are here."

Alpha squad entered behind Shepard, slowly. The lack of blatant gunfire seemed to be making them cautious. Sigurd gave the room filled with dead men a careful once over. "Sir? Is everything – ah – all right?"

"Lieutenant, this is our hostage. Former hostage." Shepard raised an eyebrow at her. "You are the quarian engineer, yes? Kidnapped?"

The quarian shivered, the action obvious in her skin-tight suit. "Yes. I managed to grab one of the guard's omni-tools. Fist stole mine, the _bosh'tet_. Everything I had was on it."

Shepard glanced at her weapon. It was a crude one, amateur construction, practically lashed together with bailing wire and hope. But the ends were blackened with use, and the stock was solid enough.

"Would you happen to have been on Eden Prime a few days ago?" he asked. "I'm looking for information on Saren."

The quarian's head went back. Her species body language was highly expressive, seen in their long necks and constantly moving hands. "Then maybe I can help you. I was there right after the geth attack, and got some data files from a geth unit. Audio files, with a turian voice."

"Ah." _Data which was probably on the aforementioned omni-tool. Held by Fist. Servant of Saren._

Shepard glanced at the quarian's state of unreadiness. "Can you handle a pistol?"

"Certainly."

He surprised her by detaching one of the two heavy pistols on his thighs, and tossing it to her. "There. A real weapon. Don't damage it; I'll want it back after we get your things."

The woman gave him a surprised look, then nodded, unlocking the weapon. It looked enormous in her small hands, but she wielded it expertly.

"Right." Shepard turned, partially addressing the others. "Keep up, and watch for tangoes. If this is the entry, there'll be more." He focused on the qurian once more. "Which way did the rest of them go?"

"That way."

Shepard nodded to Kaiden and Ashley. "You two, with me. Quiet and quick."

He didn't wait for a response before he moved. The next door, on the opposite side of the bar, was armored, heavily so. Strangely, the programs on his omni-tool were more than capable of hacking its security. It was worrisome; excellent hardware, but poor software. Wealth appeared to be no issue for Fist, but getting intelligent people to work for him appeared to be problematic.

The doorway opened into a short hallway, leading into a dimly lit chamber. Shepard stepped carefully, watching the edges of his peripheral for movement. "Miss Zorah, what's down this way?"

"Fist's office is over here, but there's another door. I was carried down the hall into a second room. It's as large as the main room, but for more – select customers, I guess." Tali's vocoder blinked off as she stopped. "I barely made it up to here, they weren't expecting me, but I don't think they'll make the same mistake again."

Shepard let his upper teeth show. The room's walls were pushing in on him, the history of its innards screaming at his mind. "Just so long as I get to shoot first."

Smoke coiling along the ceiling blocked much of his vision, but not enough to prevent him from observing, then looting a wall-safe. Evidence could be destroyed in an explosion, or by deliberate intent; a sufficiently paranoid mind could do wonders. He snorted. _Yeah, just look at me; a regular Boy Wonder._

Tali clicked the access switch on an obscured doorway; half-hidden in the shadows behind the desk. It opened into a much longer passage, sloping downwards. The far end looked almost identical to Chora's Den, compete with poles atop a bar counter, and a series of implements of questionable use hanging on the walls. The difference was a presence of restraints, high-tensile strength straps that looked deformed.

 _Two clubs, with two different entrances, sharing the same office space. Owned by one individual, very clever Mr. Fist._ Shepard tightened his grip on the pistol. _Pity I didn't take the time to sight-in the new rifle. Bigger rounds are so much better for first impressions._

Just as they reached the end, hall widening into a circular room identical to the one above, Shepard heard a tell-tale click. _Turrets_.

He dove for the floor, letting the whipping noise of near-misses pass over his consciousness. _Like playing with snowballs. Dive for cover, then let 'em fly._ Shepard peeked over his cover – something that had once been a table at a point earlier in its career – flicked his wrist, and sent a grenade with his compliments. At the same time his new omni-tool sparked to life, sabotaging the firing protocols on one of the opposing rifles. Then he switched attention to the alcoves.

A chill of foreboding ran down his spine as the sound of mechanical whirring reached his ears. The turrets were rotating in his direction, chain-gun turrets. They were twins of the upstairs examples; monstrosities that could spit a thousand rounds in a minute, yet not run out of bullets. Even the _Menelaus_ power armor hesitated to confront such devices. And all of them were twisting in his direction.

Shepard jammed the cool-down release on his omni-tool. Overhead and a bit to the left, the grenade he'd launched detonated, shaking the main platform and enveloping two of the gunners in a white-hot plasma cloud. The shockwave made his eardrums ache, even under their protecting buffers.

A moment later, he could hear Williams curse; the heavy armor she'd chosen making the floor resonate as she dropped to one knee behind him. Her assault rifle spun the opposite direction, singing its own death-song at the opposing alcove.

Shepard coded up another sequence, jamming it into the firmware of the closest turret doing its best to turn his armor into the galaxy's most expensive cheese grater. Just before he accessed the program, the turret froze, then began the arduous task of rotating away from him. The twin rotating barrels spun up into their output mode, opening fire on one of the turrets opposite its side of the room, shredding barriers and armor alike with ease.

"Hacking another turret!" a quarian voice called out. Higher up, a second turret paused its firing sequence, and shorted out. Blue electricity sparked over its surface, illuminating the smoke cloud with scattered arcs of light.

 _What? How did – ah._ Despite himself, Shepard felt impressed.

The bark of a long rifle caught his attention next, booming its basso thunder from next to the door frame. The report was closely followed by a hissing roar, similar to a gargantuan angry snake. One of the upper-level gunmen fell clutching his face, while a lurid crimson blast soared past into another turret.

Roaring of a different type brought Shepard back to the present. A krogan charged Shepard's position, making it within a meter.

Shepard fired, sparking off the krogan's shield, draining it. The turret, however, had a bigger repository at its disposal.

Krogan armor was strong. Krogan regeneration was stronger still. But 40-plus bits of ferro-ceramic, accelerating 16.67 pellets per second to a fraction of light speed did more damage than even krogan physiology could repair. The cuirass armor piece held out past the first burst, but the wet remnants behind the armor fell to the ground less than four seconds later.

Shepard moved on. A second sabotage pulse fried the shields of an oncoming human, rendering him defenseless. That particular fact did not apparently sink in until after half-dozen rounds did.

He smirked. _Battlefield awareness. No substitute._

Taking advantage of the breather, Shepard did a quick visual check. His squad moved in good order, if pressed. The alien additions were doing well; Wrex looked as if he were strolling through a leisurely garden party instead of a death trap. Garrus's expression was frozen in a smirk; rifle extending from his shoulder like it was a part of him. Even Tali fought well, one hand playing with the omni-tool while the other made tight, accurate bursts where it counted.

Return fire was scattered, but effective. Shotguns mixed with assault rifles, all of various qualities, created a cacophony that rivaled the turret roar.

Not that there is anything wrong with the small-arms type, Shepard quickly caught himself, but the manner those weapons are being wielded practically screams 'mercenary.' Substandard targeting, below-par discipline … whomever those present was working with Fist – and therefore Saren – depended too much on technology. It was good quality, no doubt about it, but single-point defense systems encouraged lazy thinking. _Turrets. The cowards. Protecting slaver scum with tin-can_ _defenses_ _?_

"Take down the turrets!" Shepard bellowed, hot pit of anger stirring once again. This time, he could appease the sensation with action, wreaking havoc. Chaos was good, it forged stronger skills and destroyed the weak. Every fight was proof of that; an example of how random actions could never be planned. Victories turned on a random variable, or divine intervention, however you looked at it. Every hit was a study, containing subtle nuances to ponder after the effect. If you lived.

This time a pinpoint sniper shot impacted a turret threatening Shepard's position, striking just below the rotator cuff, knocking the entire device sideways. Its still-rotating top pushed the supports in a quivering circle, sending the entire device jittering across the floor, firing random bursts at the perceived hostility of barstools.

 _"My pleasure."_ A turian voice flanged over the comm frequency.

Shepard smirked, feeling a warm, laughing sensation. Apparently, Garrus had a sense of humor. _Gallows humor, but humor nonetheless. We should get along well._

The moment the Alliance marines entered was obvious. The turrets were focused on his squad, whittling down their barriers in heavy increments, leaving the door exposed. The mercenaries were accustomed to the turrets taking the pressure – but by their strained expressions, likely not in having the attackers respond in such a focused manner.

To Shepard's eye, the mercenaries were fighting hard, attempting to divert the concentrated fire. While unwise in many ways, they were successful. Their main advantage was in the difference between synthetic and organic targeting. Synthetics were single-minded. Unshakable. They would pick one target and focus fire until another target became more threatening. Solid tactics, but inflexible.

A mass of heavy fire threw the mercenaries off balance. Alliance marines, not thirty seconds behind Shepard's charge, blew apart half of the remaining turrets before focusing on the organic threats. _Advantage of purely organic targeting; target-switching with much greater ease. Also a disadvantage, but training removes a lot of that._

Shepard flinched back as a dark red blur charged past, bellowing at the mercenaries. The red armor gave away the identity. _Has to be Wrex._ One of the turrets spun in the krogan's direction, but hyper-accelerated rounds needed to be fired before they could hit. The krogan smashed into the turret, overwhelming its shields, bowling it over and crushing the delicate wiring under one massive boot.

More mercenaries appeared from one side, emerging from yet another door, but they vanished just as quickly, retreating into a passageway behind the bar. Their presence, or more accurately their disappearance, pushed at Shepard the wrong way. Their actions were too confident, too casual about so many dead.

 _They're planning a counter-attack, or an ambush. Or just getting out of here with_ – the thought went through Shepard's mind like a lightning bolt. _Hardware, or prisoners. More hostages._

Snarling, he rose to his feet, ignoring the light fire pinging off his shields. "Push! Don't let up!"

Mercenaries scrambled out of the way, fighting each other for better cover. Their response barely scratched his shields; given the amount of fire Alpha squad was bringing to bear.

 _Get to the door, keep moving._ Shepard dropped to his knees, snapping a reflex shot at an overly cautious gunman, and charged again. The door had a red circle, indicating a locked status, but the mercs had opened it easily, had they not? If it wouldn't open for him, he would get one of them to do it.

The doors hissed open as he approached, exposing an increasingly terrified man in yellow and red armor face to face with Shepard. Taking the advantage, Shepard shoulder-charged the mercenary, getting behind the doorframe well in time before it closed. The impact knocked the assault rifle from the merc's hands, prompting a deft weaving motion.

"Kill you!" The man screamed, and swung a knife at Shepard's face.

He ducked the blow, blocking its follow-up with a forearm. _Peasant. Obvious distraction tactic._ One blow became two, then three. Shepard used the time to study the weaknesses of the man's medium-grade armor. It was an older model, one the manufacturers attempted to create by blending the flexibility of light armor with the durability of heavy, resulting in a compromise that succeeded at neither. Onyx armor. Expensive, good, but in a general sense.

The Onyx line worn by the mercenary, was made by Aldrin Labs. It had a penchant for dramatic paint jobs, good ECM hardening, and weak points around the collar. While all space-hardened armors were required to be vacuum-sound by law, Aldrin Labs got around the expensive obligation by maintaining the density while lowering the tensile strength with cheaper alloys.

The mercenary, sent reeling by Shepard's counter jab, scrambled back, buying himself space at the cost of time. His knife shifted to a higher grip; they were too close for a risky grab for a side-arm.

Shepard took the moment, spending a portion of the time to check his surroundings. The hall was darkly lit, polished floors and lockers lining the walls. The main room still resonated with the sound of explosions, dulling to a quiet hiss as the door slid shut. The locking mechanism engaged, the sight of which was … surprising.

He turned back to the mercenary, "Interesting door. Now, why would a down home family business like the Den need a Dracon Ten Encrypt?"

The other man didn't respond, wavering back and forth on his feet as if he were off balance. Something in his eyes warned Shepard to be ready.

As anticipated, other man charged, brandishing the knife.

Typical knife fights lasted less than five minutes; normally two. In a fair fight, one slip on either side left little room for reactions, and only a highly trained salarian could recover quickly enough to compensate. Shepard was an N7: 'fair fight' meant 'win.' He was also wearing one of the most deeply kept secrets in the Alliance: Nightstalker armor.

In the time it took for the mercenary to reach him, Shepard hit the mnemonic sequence in his gauntlet. White energy glowed around his fist, wrapping around the appendage like a second glove. Energy darted forwards, licking playfully around ceramic plate. The gauntlet itself connected a fraction of a second later, shattering the armor plate like porcelain.

Without the pseudo-biotics, his blow would have merely rocked the man, and exposed his own arm to a return cut. Ceramic-alloy plates were good for many things, but could be penetrated by a hard enough blow. Typical melee combat focused on keeping limbs moving in circular motions – but one of the secrets to an N7 success was a non-conventional combat style.

Now, with the upper part of his cuirass partially destroyed, the mercenary's wiser response would be to either increase the ferocity of his attack, or retreat. Shepard slapped the knife away from another attack, and repeated his tactic, sans biotics, and on bare under-armor. It was a grim satisfaction, harking back to a more primitive time; something he felt should be taught to the lower-level N7 candidates. Collapsed tracheas were charming that way.

Sweeping the hall with a quick look, Shepard concluded there were no more soldiers approaching in the immediate future. He was just about to examine the locking mechanism, when a faint cry caught his attention. The anger he'd been holding in surged against its barriers.

Quickly, he got to work on the door. The opening mechanism was jammed, locked by one of the most esoteric codes he'd ever seen. The door itself was made of stronger stuff than the main door had been constructed, unusual. That … was logical, actually. If someone had wanted to prevent entrance, an equally paranoid mind would want to prevent escaping. Especially given the decorations festooning the lower Den.

More cries came from further behind the hall, pushing his efforts. The code resisted his attempts to hack it. _Wish I had an engineer with me right now. Brute forcing the encryption will take over five minutes … that quarian might be able to do something, but what can I do?_

Another brief scan told him the door was too strong for any explosives he carried, possibly even too much for what the Marines wielded. Most of his previous experiences on the Citadel had required stealth, appropriate vents and encrypted doors. The firmware on his latest omni-tool was solid, but the superior hacking software was still on the _Normandy's_ mainframe, waiting to be downloaded. Basic programs would get the job done, but not in time.

He stepped back, touching his earpiece. "Alenko, it's Shepard. Sitrep?"

Gunfire, muted by a helmet's filters, met his ears. _"Commander? Ah, we're doing good; got the tangoes backed into a corner. They're getting reinforcements though, not sure how many. Where are you? Your signal is a bit weak."_

"Other side of the back door, locked tight." Shepard checked the algorithm running on his omni-tool. "It's going to take a few more minutes for my program to hack it; get that quarian on it if you can. I'll clear ahead."

An eerie feeling swept over him. _I'm doing exactly what Nihlus was doing, going ahead without backup._ A second scream shook him from inactivity. _So be it._

A heavy rattle, from a light machine-gun blocked the Lieutenant's voice for a moment. _"Roger that Commander. Nothing we can't handle. Good luck."_

Shepard grimaced. By the sound of it, Fist had indeed been deep in Saren's pocket, with the manpower to prove it. Why it was on the other side of this one door was baffling, but it was probable that if there was one exit, there was another. Old rule of thumb: never have just one bolt hole.

A sobbing scream broke him from his reverie, electrifying every nerve. He spun, headed back down the hall as quietly and as quickly as possible.

* * *

Running in full armor took training. Light armor consisted of under-armor padding, a minimal quantity of automation that helped coordinate the bulky portions and seals that held it all in place. Medium grade armor added servomotors, facilitating operations in heavier gravity, and more physical strength for mobility. Heavy armor, aside from the power armor, had the most mechanical assistance; the armor itself was often over half the weight of the individual it protected.

Shepard's armor could have been classified on the heavy end of Medium, or as a low-grade Heavy armor. It's Element Zero portions were lighter than most armor mechanisms, but could be set to a mass-reduction setting that cut down on movement speed, at the cost of a minor quantity of power.

The dark color and low-mass could also be configured to allow Shepard to travel quietly. The hard edges clicked against the metal flooring, but not as loudly as a non-segmented tread would do. Another misdirection in the N7 shotlocker: should someone be listening, they would anticipate a Light armor classification.

The screaming grew louder the closer he got. There was a right turn into an office of some sort; Shepard paused for ten seconds, it contained a hard drive, commonly seen in small independent shipping. The encryption was surprisingly minimal, easily isolated. They downloaded to an OSD he kept in a pouch, safe for later perusal. _Onward._

More doors opened to either side, each leading to what looked like changing rooms. Two of the doors were locked, and he wasted precious time as he forced his way into them, into what appeared to be storage rooms. Kegs lined the walls, bracketing long shelves of bottles and stasis crates full of … he lifted a lid … edibles. Of a sort.

 _I do not want to know who eats beetles._ Shepard closed the container as gently as possible. _They don't even look the right color; bluish-green. Too many legs._

The second storage room was similarly equipped, but with a number of electronics. Replacement parts for the bar, most likely. That left only a single, heavy-looking door at the end of the lowest part of the hall. Fortunately, it was jammed open, partially blocked by what looked to be a fallen pylon. In keeping with the odd Citadel technology, the door's multi-segmented slats were crumpled over each other, splayed pathetically.

As he approached, he could feel a cold draft and hear shouting. His muscles tensed; that was a very familiar kind of voice; angry, controlling. It made his temples ache with an old familiar pain.

Shepard tapped his omni-tool, changing frequencies. "Charlie squad, any movement?" Maybe he was wrong. Slavers didn't operate out of the Citadel, right?

 _"Jensen here. We have some large cargo transports just taking off from the back entrance, and a couple more just landed."_ The voice responded, rendered into a buzzing tone by the synthetic nature of the device.

Shepard's blood froze. "Take them down, repeat: Take! Take! Take!"

Not bothering to wait for a response, he switched channels to the C-Sec detective. "Vakarian, you there?"

The deafening roar of a sniper rifle boomed into his earpiece, barely reduced to safe levels. _"One less to worry about! Ah, sorry Commander, I'm here."_

"Several cargo carriers just took off the next level down; they're hauling slaves I think." Shepard lowered his voice slightly; he was getting closer to the hall's end. "Can you get C-Sec to track them down?"

 _"A human requesting Citadel intervention? I think those boys will be racing each other to get there. I'll make the call."_

"Thank you, Detective." Shepard touched the comm bead. With the runners being chased, and the exit now blocked, he could do what he did best.

A small camera extended from his omni-tool; activated with a few careful commands. With it, he was close enough to the doorway so that he could extend its lens through the slats of the blocked door, sending an image to his eyepiece.

The interior of the next room struck him as large, overall, but messy. Crates were strewn all over the floor, cages stacked in one corner filled with large animals. Several of them, he could tell, were varren: reptilian beasts that resembled a cross between a penguin's colors and an alligator body. Fortunately, the cages were locked, well secured in lengths of chain.

A different corner had him seething, though. A group of people huddled on the ground, clutching at themselves or each other for security. Collars around their necks were all the evidence he needed, testing his self-control. Three were asari, two of which wore the typical dancer's apparel, next to what looked like a red drell. Finally he counted a full half dozen human women – all in various states of dress. Shepard forced his attention away from rage, back to task.

Covering the far wall was a large bay door, suitable for cargo transfers. It was half-open, closing as he watched. One of the men standing by the door was cursing; bemoaning something … he was too far for Shepard to tell exactly what was going on. The way other men in the room were watching him seemed to indicate his position … and therefore priority. One other man was joining them, rolling his shoulders as if relieved of a heavy burden. Tracing his path, Shepard noticed one of the human women struggling to free herself, red marks scattered across her upper body. Defensive placement.

Shepard darted from cover, keeping his movements smooth. Human eyes spotted patterns, jerking motions. Planning as he moved … _Expendable goods can be shot, if considered capable of killing. If I go straight for the head, there's a chance to end this before it begins. Careful you thumb-fingered-idiot, don't mess up now._

A gunman was standing close to the back row, just in sight of the others, but far enough back to be missed if he were quick. Shepard felt the edge of his bracer, grasping a tab under its lip. It snapped in his grasp, trailing a monofilament wire back into the recesses of his armor.

One minor biotic pulse reduced the man's weight to almost nothing. A secondary program on Shepard's omni-tool magnetized the external plating, locking the man's armor into a single position. At the same moment, Shepard rose behind the man, flicking the garrote into place, and sank back behind the crates with his cargo. It was over before the struggling stopped.

Shepard swiped the man's omni-tool, dropping it on the ground next to himself. The weapons were all low-quality, indicating a lower ranking. _Probably why he's guarding the stuff, too unimportant._

A thunderous explosion emanated from the mostly-closed bay door. Shepard froze, waiting to see the reaction.

The lead character brandished what looked like a high-quality pistol at the people surrounding him. Two broke away, headed directly for the prisoners, while another group rushed to the walls either side of the mostly-closed doorway. Some scattered, moving too fast for him to track with all of the confusion.

 _Blast._ Shepard checked the time. _More than enough to have opened that door. Where are they?_

Gunfire rattled against the bay door, which closed itself the last meter. The crash of metal on metal reverberated throughout the loading bay.

Using his omni-camera once more, Shepard looked for the leading figure. He was gesticulating at the door past the crates where Shepard was hiding, and pointing at the shackled prisoners. _Pinned on two flanks, and he thinks he can get away? Why …_ the thoughts piled past each other, flying through his mind thick and fast. _Hostages, and meat shield. Use them as a mobile wall, negotiate an escape, or buy enough time for a surprise heavy assault to cover an escape. Clever._

Shepard crushed the anger rising at this man. _Right_. He glanced at the goodies left by the inattentive guard. One of the items lying on the floor was a key-coder, designed for securing encrypted pass-keys … like for restraint collars.

He tried activating the device. It clicked feebly in his hands, not registering on the collars. _Too far. But what if … it'll take timing, but I can do that._

Moving quickly, he reconfigured the grenade launcher on his arm, adding a wad of omni-gel to its mechanism. The omni-tool itself was already humming, setting up a smoke grenade. As it formed, Shepard took aim and fired the device. The launcher hiccupped, unused to the oddly-shaped projectile, but capable of the task

Just as the key-coder left his arm, the grenade slipped into place, grating on the excess omni-gel. It required only a minor twist and he fired in one smooth motion.

He waited, counting under his breath, watching the coder arc through the air. It smacked into one of the prisoner's heads, forcing a wince out of him as it slid down her chest. _Well, at least it reached the target_.

The count finished almost before Shepard realized it, prompting him to fire another grenade. Its parabola matched the first two, an excellent testimonial for the launcher's designer. _I should see who manufactures this thing. Mindoir would do well with that kind of quality._

Smoke billowed from the positions on either side of the bay door. Surprised shouting turned the previously unharmed interior into a panicked zone.

Shepard squeezed the trigger, felling one of the two. _Brute force and pain are your allies, Fist. Let me introduce you to mine: panic and chaos._

Another shot dropped a second man, placed perfectly through the back of the head. He'd been charging the collared prisoners; his fall seemed to spook them into frantic activity. The slave that he'd hit with the key-coder was frantically pawing at herself, struggling to get the collar synced. Shepard smirked victoriously. _Just a matter of time now._

He shifted focus to the smoke-filled areas, where the mercenaries were now just stumbling out, shaking their heads. _Two more shots, then another grenade._

One round missed completely, exposing his position. The second was true, turning a formerly handsome individual into an unsightly mess.

Shepard ducked, queuing up the next grenade while priming another sabotage burst. He regretted not getting the overload capacitor, but there was a finite amount of space on one omni-tool after all. The memory was there, but the sheer number of physical add-ons could stretch into the absurd.

 _"Commander? You there?"_ A static-filled voice broke into his concentration.

"Gah!" Shepard mis-launched the grenade, and had to watch it detonate harmlessly over the heads of his assailants.

 _"Ah – you all right? This is Ashley, we're on our way."_

"Good." Shepard grunted. The miss had cost him; he'd been counting on the explosion to panic Fist's group for a few seconds more. "Would you mind hurrying it up a little? I have Fist pinned down, but can't keep him from running forever."

 _"Roger that Commander. Double time it people!"_

The connection broke off, leaving Shepard to concentrate on his current situation.

The slaves-cum-prisoners had managed to free themselves, and were taking advantage of the distraction. Already, they were hurrying to the far side, getting as far away from the guns as possible. The asari had biotic fields in place, but the iridescence shimmered uncertainly.

Shepard half-rose in an effort to keep Fist's attention on himself. A sabotage charge choked an assault rifle, overheating it to scalding temperatures in the merc's hands. A responding barrage forced Shepard back into cover, but not until he'd managed to damage another mercenary's shields.

A faint clicking noise reached his ears, just as he saw a flat disk land on a wall just above his feet. _Aw shoot._

Immediately, his armor glowed white, increasing his mass exponentially. The grenade detonated, but unlike a standard explosion of intense heat and shrapnel, it emitted a white flare and a deafening sound.

 _Stupid! Stupid! Stupid! Flash bang, of course they'd have flash bangs! What do you think they catch slaves with, cotton candy?_ The exaggerated mass of his armor prevented Shepard from covering his eyes like he wanted. He couldn't hear anything other than a dull ringing. In thought form, he allowed a mild expletive. _Dammit!_ _All right, it's all right … deep breaths, calm down._

He inhaled as long as he could, breathing out the tension as effectively as possible. _You know where you are, you know where they were a few seconds ago. The only thing that's changed is you can't see, or hear. Use that misfiring hunk of hardware you call a brain!_

The floor shook slightly, cuing him to other action occurring. _Right, reinforcements. Charlie squad is outside, so get that door open. Alpha squad is here, so don't worry about getting hit right now. Just get the door open._

The omni-tool vibrated under his fingertips, activating to the full keyboard he used during more difficult … acquisitions. The room was distracting him by flashing like a strobe, repercussions of the flash-bang. When Shepard felt a second shudder in the floor, he paused the hack, and flicked another grenade over his cover. For a good measure, he poked the tip of his pistol over the side, rocking it back and forth while firing until the capacitor overheated.

He returned to his keyboard, but couldn't recover the pattern. _Blast it all to Kar'Shan and back. Where's an engineer when you really need one?_

Gradually, he started picking out voices. It was hard to make out over the persistent ringing, but was coming clearer all the time. More worryingly, his eyesight wasn't returning as quickly; the edges were fading to the normal coloration, but nothing definite could be seen.

The main door was grinding again, sending a warning thrum through his spine. A second vibration overlaid itself, the rumble of a revving skycar, pushed him back to his feet, fighting to see through the haze.

He managed to be facing the main exit, a massive cargo-bay door, when the vehicle he'd been hearing roared from behind another stack of crates, soaring to freedom. Rumbling feet charged in, Alpha squad finally making an appearance.

Shepard glanced right. His squads were standing there, pouring enough live ammunition on the vehicle to make any standard issue paneling shred under the stress. The fact that this didn't was proof it was not standard. The windows cracked, and scars appeared on the sides, but no full penetration occurred.

The car dipped sideways, presenting its undercarriage to Alpha squad while picking up the last surviving mercenaries – and Fist – and dove for the doorway.

"Rockets! Heavies, take it down!" Williams was bellowing at the marines. They were unlimbering the heavy weapons, but it was obvious they'd never fire in time. A blind shot perhaps, but that was worse than useless in a space station.

Just as the car passed through the opening, the cargo door slammed down, crushing the car's hood into the floor. The rest of the car, obeying momentum, tried to continue, breaking apart against the wall. Something exploded, sending flaming shards of debris everywhere.

Then, there was silence.

Cautiously, Shepard took a step. As he hadn't fallen, he took another, testing that security. _All good. Back to normal, relatively. Still seeing haze._

"Sir! Are you all right?" Alenko jogged up, one fist pulsating blue.

"Never better." Shepard trying to blink away the last vestiges of the flash-bang. "I have to admit, good work with the door. I was too far from the controls to hack it. Safeties removed for a good measure?"

The lieutenant blinked. "I thought you did that. Who did?"

"Um, that would have been me." The quarian, Tali'Zorah, stepped around a particularly large cargo crate, one half-blasted by a flaming chunk of the skycar. "It wasn't a difficult lock, it just needed a few tweaks here and there."

"Excellent work." Shepard nodded to her, "your stuff around here?"

The quarian pointed at the back door the skycar had flown out from. "Over there, might be in the car if Fist took it with him.

Shepard waved his squad forwards after the quarian, watching her move away with rapid steps. "Check it out. Stay frosty."

 _"Sir, Commander, are you there? Jensen to Commander Shepard."_ a voice emanated from his earpiece.

Shepard reached up to touch it. "Shepard here, alive and no counting for it." He stopped, humor? In battle? Next thing you know, he'd be donning a clown's nose and squirting flowers at people. He leaned against a convenient bulkhead, relaxing.

There was an exclamation of relief. _"Thank heavens; there were more hostiles than expected. Fist had a whole platoon it looks like."_

"Ah." He liked the word. It covered a whole gamut of situations, so nicely vague that way. _Wait. Now I'm was waxing eloquent about words? Shock. It has to be shock._

The voice continued. _"Where are you? We've almost got the last of those – people shut down out here. By the way, Anderson wants to talk to you, something about a message you sent him?"_

Of course, the hostage. Shepard let his head thump against the wall. It rang hollowly, bringing amusement to his thoughts. _Which is emptier, the walls or my head? That was a foolhardy thing to do, rushing in like that._

"I'm behind some cargo crates roughly fifteen meters from the door, maybe twenty meters from the bay door. C-Sec get the other cars?"

 _"That's affirmative. Pulled them down with a big magnet, looks like. Fried their drive trains something fierce."_

Shepard chuckled before switching channels. "Alenko, everyone all right?"

 _"I think so, sir. Fist is really mad about it though, claims he has diplomatic immunity. Can you get over here?"_ Alenko's voice was sounding worried.

Shepard sighed. "Alright, though it might not do you any good. Caught a flash-bang to the face; hearing is back, but vision is down a bit." He pushed off the wall, testing his limbs. One muscle in his lower arm twinged. "Can you see me?"

 _"Yessir. I'll be over in … oh. That quarian is coming for you."_

"Thank you Lieutenant." Shepard fought against the malaise. Balling up a fist, he punched the cargo crate, making a loud thumping noise. The frustration, from falling prey to such a simple thing … was strong.

His ruminations weren't allowed to last; a strange footstep approached his position. _Shorter than average human, if proportions are the same. Odd heel-toe contact, so turian or quarian; where's Vakarian anyway?_

"Commander Shepard?" A female voice with an odd trill spoke up, "Are you hurt?"

Shepard forced himself away from the wall, wavering slightly until he caught his balance. "Fit to fight, ma'am. Thank you for your assistance, it is much appreciated."

"Happy to help," she responded. "And please, it's Tali'Zorah, or just Tali.

A memory struck, from earlier, but repressed held back from combat. _As in possible relation to Admiral Zorah? Interesting._ Shepard nodded politely in the direction of the voice, not voicing his suspicions.

"Gloria figured it had to have been you, when that key hit her. Thank you for that – she was kind to me." Her speaking style reminded Shepard somewhat of Katarina, years ago. Quick, far-ranging, and an innate belief that the listener was able to follow equally well.

Fortunately, he could.

"Least I could do after what they've been through." Shepard turned so he could listen in on the rest of the room. It wouldn't do to be caught unawares after this mess.

"I know, Fist took the armor, said I wouldn't need it where I was going." Tali's hands seemed to be working in front of her, as if she were nervous. " _Bosh'tet_. Sorry, I'm not normally talking like this.

"Been a long day. Not a problem."

By now she had guided him closer to the center of the room. The haze had faded enough to allow almost full vision once more. He could see the armor differences again; Alliance colors and C-Sec blues predominant among them.

"You have no right to do this!" A severely annoying voice did its best to drill through Shepard's headache. "I'm an Alliance citizen, I have diplomatic immunity!"

He couldn't let that go. "You don't in my book. Book him if you want. Deepest and dankest and darkest of dungeons, if you got 'em."

One of the figures faced him; Shepard could tell by the widening of one shadowy figure. "Oh, and you're the high-and-mighty Shepard, huh? Saren sends his regards!"

The figure blurred, and quiet clicking noise caught Shepard's attention as something hit his breastplate. In the background, a scuffle pulled the black shadow away, piling it to the floor in a mass of Alliance blue armor. It looked painful.

Innocent beeping drew his attention away from the pile.

"Shoot." Shepard knew that sound, it was the arming alert for a unique line of grenade, found in the Terminus Systems. They were weaker than the normal version, but had an extended range. What made them truly unique, however, was their timer based detonation, rather than proximity. A combination of electro-static capacitors and adhesive attached the grenade to its target, preventing a quick-fingered soldier – a salarian for example – from flicking it away. Most grenades went with proximity fuses, but this model … had five seconds on its timer. Maybe four left.

With one hand, Shepard reached out and shoved the quarian engineer's shoulder, sending her flying. The other did a one-handed activation of his omni-tool; he had basically one chance at living through the encounter, and that was based on if he could activate the suit's Lockdown protocol in time.

The armor responded, upper portions of its gorget extending, protecting his lower jaw, and would have met the underside of the helmet had he been wearing one. The rest of the armor sealed itself into a stiff mass, powering up the element zero systems once more. It increased his mass once more, to a greater extent than when he'd been lying behind the crates; that had been a mild version of what he was doing right now.

The warning came in the form of a tiny clicking noise; Shepard grimaced. "This is going to smart."

Sound vanished once more, but this time it was accompanied by an overwhelming sensation against his chest, like he'd been hit by a shuttle. For a moment, Shepard felt weightless, unable to determine which direction was down. Then the deck struck his back, wrenching the breath out of him in a single agonizing gasp. _Yep. I was right. That stings._

Vibrations from the locks disengaging allowed his limbs to collapse fully. _Flat. I'm on the ground – again_. Slowly, Shepard raised his head before letting it fall to the deck again, repeating the action multiple times. _Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. I can't even hear anything._

He paused, listening to the shrill ringing in his ears. _Not exactly situational awareness. What's next, getting tossed into the ceiling?_

Something grabbed his shoulder. Out of reflex, Shepard latched onto the questing limb and started to twist before his mind took over. _No, not a threat._

The hand drew away gradually, apparently surprised by his action, then tapped his shoulder.

Shepard shook his head, twirling a finger around his ear, then waving it just in front of his face. "I can't hear, and my vision is still down. Can you get Lieutenant Alenko over here please?" He could feel the vibration of his voice in his head, and winced. He was probably shouting, not exactly the calm and cool demeanor of a Commander.

He felt a reassuring squeeze on his arm, then the faint vibration of feet moving away. With nothing better to do, he began the arduous task of rising to his feet. Movement was a good way of determining a better damage assessment after all.

Gravity felt stronger this time, pushing against his efforts. It was unnerving how there was no noise of armor joints creaking as he maneuvered himself into a sitting position. There was resistance, like he was pushing the _Normandy_ off his chest.

Shepard frowned. _That's wrong. Resisting something like a Mako cannon round would do something like that. Did I turn off the mass boost?_ The interface depressed under his fingers, and the pressure vanished. _Ah. Much better._

Getting to his feet, Shepard tried once more to see through the haze. As before, there was a small amount visible around the edges, but the center was too blurry to discern, prompting a groan. I must have been looking right at it when the grenade went off.

A firm group surprised him. "Lieutenant Alenko?"

The hand slapped his shoulder gently.

"I'm afraid I am unable to maintain command at the moment. Alenko is in charge right now." He made a ninety-degree turn. "If you would be so kind as to assign me a guide back to the _Normandy_ , I would be grateful."

Faint murmurs made it through the ringing sensation, something vaguely conciliatory. "I am perfectly capable of walking; I just need a pair of eyes." Shepard took a chance at the probable conversation topic.

Apparently, his point was carried. A hand clutched at his elbow, and he automatically lifted his hand to a resting position on his guide's inner arm. "Thank you, I appreciate it." Manners were important; being rude made people less likely to assist in the long run. It was paying off at the moment, anyway.

* * *

The blurriness was still present when he came to a stop. Shepard knew he wasn't on the _Normandy_ , they hadn't passed through any airlocks, and there had been no elevator rides of sufficient duration. If he didn't know any better, it felt like they'd only moved a kilometer or so down the Ward.

Now, however, he was sitting in a chair. _Somewhere on the Citadel, being seen to by an unknown individual._ Shepard was pretty sure it was a single person; the hands had felt the same size each time they'd tilted his head.

Bright white light filled his vision; he blinked in response, frowning at the intrusion. _Ah. Eye exam. Hope that means they're finished stuffing gelatin in my ears, most unpleasant._

The light changed eyes once or twice, adding spots to the blurriness. _Great. At least there's a little variety._

By the time half an hour had passed, Shepard was becoming somewhat irritable, though he covered it as best as he could. The itching sensation in his ears was maddening, although he fought the urge to clear them constantly.

Finally hands touched his shoulder, warning him, before they began working. They were cool, working on his ear, until a gentle popping sound heralded the return of his hearing.

Shepard sighed in relief. "That's much better. Thank you."

"Do not mention it." An accented voice responded cheerfully. "Now that you can hear me, I will be working on the other side, yes?"

"Please." Shepard tilted his head the other way.

While the hands worked on his other side, Shepard continued. "What happened with Fist?"

Garrus's voice reached his ears. "Commander, Fist was taken to C-Sec custody. There are a lot of questions waiting for him there … or being asked right now."

Shepard's eyebrow lifted. "Detective Vakarian I presume?"

The turian gave a dry chuckle. "In the flesh. When you put Lieutenant Alenko in charge, he asked me to take you to a clinic. Doctor Michelle has one of the best clinics in the Wards, and it would have taken another hour to get you back to the _Normandy_. Chief Williams is outside though, keeping an eye on everything. Oh, and two of your marines are here with me."

Confirming noises made themselves known. One was the deep voice of Lieutenant Sigurd, the other a bit higher tenor. Nicholson, perhaps?

A popping sensation made Shepard wince. "Ah. Much better. What did you do, doctor?"

"I regenerated the tympanic membrane with a specialized medi-gel," Doctor Michelle's voice emanated from somewhere to his left. "Fairly simple to do, but I advise you to not listen to loud music until the regeneration has been completed. Twenty-four hours, if possible."

Shepard nodded, "I believe I can do that. Can you do anything about my eyes? I'm a little blurry – well, very blurry actually."

"Yes indeed. I wanted to fix your hearing first, before I did anything to your eyes." Michelle's voice had moved, "let's begin."

The process was much lighter than he'd anticipated. Apparently, there had been minor nerve damage, as well as minor scarring on what the doctor called the conjunctiva. Terminology Shepard had thought left behind once he'd achieved his degree.

"Now, I'm doing a mild lesion re-construction, Commander," Dr. Michelle lowered a binocular frame over Shepard's upper face, letting it sit. "These are easy to repair, but I'm going to have to ask you to leave the eye patch on your left eye for a day. Twenty-eight hours, if possible."

He found his irritation rapidly easing, now that he could both see and hear. _Well, one out of two. Call it seventy-five percent, with one eye functioning._ "Thank you, doctor. I really appreciate this."

She made dismissive sounds. "Well, when Garrus came in here talking about how an Alliance soldier needed emergency help fast, I couldn't say no."

 _First-name basis, mm?_ Shepard kept his mouth shut. _Makes sense in a way. A cop has to know where the hospitals are, especially the smaller ones. I'll have to see if this clinic needs anything, direct a fundraiser in its direction sometime._

"Still, I highly appreciate this. You wouldn't believe how many forms I would have to fill out on the _Normandy_." He gave her a friendly twitch of the lips. It was the most he could do; smiling was not really possible these days.

"A friend of Garrus's is a friend of mine. Now, how is your vision now?" The device lifted from Shepard's face.

He blinked. The room was in full color; at least, the beige and white colors of the Citadel. A small effort at redecorating the room's interior had done wonders at massaging the harsh lines, as had the presence of a divider, separating the room into two. The ceiling lights were recessed, illuminating the room without taking up space, which meant the ceiling wasn't flush against the floor of the next level up; an excellent position in a space station.

Shepard looked at the doctor. She was dark-haired and of medium height, about to his jaw if he stood up. She was also watching him expectantly, arms folded, holding a digital clipboard.

"Full color, good depth perception. Don't know how good my precision is, but I'll find out at the range tomorrow."

She looked ready to protest, but stopped at his additional statement. "All right, just take care of those eyes. You only get the pair, you know."

He gave her a short, seated bow in return. "They've grown on me over the years. I think I'll keep them, if possible."

The doctor laughed, while the marines gave him a funny look. Apparently, hearing him joke was an unusual occurrence. He found himself enjoying the sensation of confounding them. _Maybe I should do that more often. Don't want them to take me for granite after all. Ha._

"Well, send me the bill, and I'll make sure you get reimbursed for the cost." Shepard rose to his feet, checking his armor automatically. "And don't say it's free." He caught her mouth snapping shut. "A soldier's eyes are second in value only to his hearing; you fixed both, a gift of inestimable value to me. Thank you."

Her jaw hung slack for a moment, "Um, sure … Commander. If that's what you want? But I run a free clinic, I couldn't possibly – "

Shepard gave her a glare, possibly enhanced by the monocular form of the eye-patch. "I will pay. No arguments." He beckoned to the marines. "I better get back to the _Normandy_ , Lord only knows what they've done to it in my absence."

The door hissed open, and a tanned face poked in. "Commander? Udina just contacted me, are you able to travel? That quarian has something. Something big."

Shepard had to think quickly _. Dark hair, white-and-pink armor … Gunnery Chief Ashley Williams._

"Just finishing up here, Williams. I will be on my way in five," he called back.

Her teeth flashed white. "Right, sir. Good to see you back on your feet."

"Good to be back, Chief." Shepard responded. The door slid shut, and he got back to a small pad of paperwork. "Good to be back indeed."

* * *

 **A/N: My last chapter was a bit short, so I went a tad longer on this one. It needed the length to tell the story aright, anyway.**

 **Special thanks to Nightstride, the best beta this side of the Pacific! Send cookies everyone.**

 **A tradition I'm starting is to put up decent fics (usually Mass Effect) for your reading pleasure. Today, we have Fainmaca, who not only writes a mean Shepard/Jack (worth the second look), but also has a youtube channel ... to me, that's dedication. His work: "Mass Effect:Into the Unknown" (ID 6601801) has just breached one million words. Well done Fainmaca!**

 **Work on the next chapter has begun. Tips or criticisms are welcome in the Review option below. Go on ... click it. You know you want to ...**


	8. Honors and Awards

_The information from Tali'Zorah "sealed the deal" for the Council. Not only had Shepard proven a Spectre had gone bad, he'd taken out a localized terrorist cell,as C-Sec would later define the affair. Whatever the nomenclature, Fist's position had been well entrenched, and a total of fifty slaves had been released from various points on the Citadel. A good achievement, even by the highest standards._

 _Those were good times. C-Sec respected him for his dedication, achieving success despite debilitating Alliance respected him, not just for his past accomplishments, but for his performance in front of the ostensibly best Law agencies in the galaxy. Respect, such a flexible commodity, was his._

 _Unfortunately, the newly heightened profile was exactly what Shepard had not wanted. Fame can be considered to be the flip side of notoriety, depending on who assigns the label. While it is easier to achieve public works in such a state, vanishing is exponentially more difficult – the precise reason Shepard hadn't wanted such fame._

 _For most of his career, Shepard had hunted for a great many things:information, people and such. I know for a fact that he'd once wished for better access to the Council regions, the better to do his work._

 _The funny thing about wishes — sometimes you receive that for which you ask._

 _Notes from Dr. Arnold Pavenmeyer's logs_

 _~Project Ragnarök Files_

* * *

Anderson looked up at his door when he heard its gentle chime. He keyed the access code, into the monitor on his desk, and the door opened to reveal Lieutenant Alenko standing just outside. The younger man was short, but carried himself well, a testament to both his training and Shepard's apparent confidence in him. Evidence of his young protégé's capabilities, even by second-hand demonstration, always brought a smile to his face. Alenko was a good man, a bit shy at times, but good.

"Sir, may I ask you a few questions?" Alenko shifted his feet nervously. Apparently, he'd been standing outside the door for a few minutes; the schedule should have placed him on the _Normandy_ , helping the new shuttle get settled. Ordinarily, cargo was of no concern to the combat squads, but Alenko's technological expertise had made him the perfect choice.

"Of course, Lieutenant," he rose to his feet, checking the chronometer on the wall. "If you don't mind, we can talk on the way to the Presidium. I have a meeting in forty minutes."

"Um, sir, it's about Shepard. Commander Shepard, I mean – " Alenko blinked as Anderson sat down once more. "Nothing wrong, just … complicated."

Anderson nodded. "Mister Alenko, when Shepard is involved, I can almost guarantee things will get complicated. Always does; runs in his family."

The two stared at each other for a moment, old brown orbs into young ones the color of burnt umber. Alenko broke the stalemate. "Why is Shepard so quiet? I've worked with him for over three weeks now, and he – goes out of his way to avoid people; I can only corner him in the gym, and even that's hard. Why?"

Anderson exhaled quietly, looking down at his desk. "Shepard was … shy, when he was a boy. Quiet, hard-working, but … reluctant to socialize. He's grown into a fine man, almost a copy of his father."

"You knew his father, sir?" Alenko cocked his head to one side. "That's the second time you've mentioned his family."

The older man awarded a point to himself; it was a subtle art, offering bits of information to feel someone out. In this case, Alenko was in a position to do a great deal of harm, and needed to be checked. Shepard never could learn how to do it subtly. _A pity. If he's going as far as Udina wants, he'll need every weapon possible in his shot locker._

"His father was John Shepard. A good man; one of the first to receive gene modifications developed for soldiers, and the prototype for many follow-up concepts. He was a great fighter, but a better leader … until he quit."

"Quit?"

Anderson raised his gaze, avoiding Alenko's eyes. It wasn't the happiest memory, even if not his fault. "A mission went bad. Civilians were hurt. John had a big heart – and what he saw – broke him. More than the psychiatrists could fix. Pity, he was slated for N school, if he'd accepted. Could have been a great leader. Not to mention the brass really wanted him." The last sentence he muttered under his breath; the lieutenant didn't need to know that part.

"But, what does that have to do with Commander Shepard?" Alenko let his hands drop.

"Commander Shepard is his father's son, highly unique. He's one of those few that can kill, and not suffer for it; maybe two percent in any human military have that gift. He feels badly when he makes a poor decision, but as long as I've known him, he's never regretted killing bad men." The captain met Alenko's eyes, "He's been through the worst life can throw at him, and he keeps coming back for more. Did he tell you about Torfan?"

Alenko shook his head. "No. He never talks about his past. Um, except for some things. Sir."

"No reason why he should." Anderson shrugged, "Shepard spent two days on Torfan ahead of the invasion. This was after Elysium, after he managed to foil a batarian slaver attack. I told him he didn't have to go, but he insisted." His dark eyes narrowed. "Shepard doesn't just _dislike_ slavers, he _hates_ them. Always has, ever since Mindoir."

"But there," his muscles tensed, an automatic reaction as Anderson looked into the past. "His gun camera recorded only a portion of Shepard's kills, but those were enough. Since he was there off the record, it's not in the official listing, but anyone who's in the right channel knows. Torfan boosted his kill count by over five hundred. And that was before he started using explosives."

Alenko frowned, eyebrows furrowing. "Torfan changed him that much?"

"Change?" Anderson came back to the present, relaxing. "No. I've stayed away from asking too many questions, but Shepard didn't change on Torfan. What changed was how people looked at him after that. The way stories get around, you'd suspect Shepard could have taken the whole base by himself." He shuddered. "I don't trust the stories, but I do believe he could have destroyed it. By the time I caught up with him, he'd gotten hold of a shuttle and was loading it with fuel canisters. Fission material. Dangerous stuff."

"Ah." Kaiden sat for a moment. "Then was it Mindoir that made him this way?"

Anderson grunted. "Partially, I suspect. I wasn't there, but it was bad. The colony wasn't large, but it was well on its way towards becoming a big one, kinda like it is now – and he's the only listed survivor. All I can say is that he had a lot of pain back there, but it never broke him," he snorted. "It did help him become what he is, though. Why he frustrates so many people."

"Oh?"

"Mindoir wasn't a full Alliance member back in the late 60's." The chair creaked as Anderson shifted position, "Its founders weren't quite as – trusting – of the governing body as they could have been, with some good reason. That far out, I know some of the old generals were intent on reserving the planet as a glorified military base, not an actual colony. Anyway, Mindoir's original charter specified a certain independence; that's partially why reinforcements came so late."

"Uh-huh." Kaiden's eyes narrowed, "and the frustration?"

Anderson's gave swept over the biotic, making the man straighten involuntarily. It was a trick he'd learned from the old sergeant back in boot camp. "Shepard kept the charter, always has a copy wherever he goes. As a member of the old colony, he has certain – leeway inside the Alliance military infrastructure. It's not autonomy, but he has a larger operational freedom in the frontier regions, and a certain detached deference to the Alliance structure inside our borders. That kind of flexibility can be very quiet, which is why Intelligence likes him so much; with his ICT rating, he can go almost anywhere … with the permission of the colonial authority."

"But, if Shepard's the last survivor … wouldn't that make him …?"

"The authority to affirm his request? Yes." Anderson smirked at the younger man. "He's allowed to stamp his own requests – yet is not an independent operator. Although it should be noted that as the colonial authority, he allows junior members, just to keep up the system. He heads back to Mindoir every once in a while, training up a militia." He made a vague noise of disbelief, "Militia. That colony has a better funded military than some countries on Earth."

"Why doesn't the Alliance revoke the charter, if it has only one actual member?" Kaidan's stance was awkward, but determined. It had to be nerve wracking, talking about politics and the Commander in such a way. Most soldiers gossiped about their superiors, but almost never with an officer above the subject of speculation. "I mean, he can induct new members, but the Alliance could declare a Charter null and void, and change the local system. It is a contract after all, calling it fulfilled or failed would end it."

"Precedent." Anderson spread his hands expressively. "If one colony – even a small one – has its rights revoked because of a minor technicality, what's to stop another from undergoing the same fate?" He brought his hands back together, folding them. "That brings in politics; the ICT has had Shepard's back in this one, since he's never misused that authority. Think of it as banking for a large account; your money is promised to have a certain value, provided you don't ask for all of it at once. Or maybe a territory, not quite the same as a member-state, but holding many of the same rights – not all."

Kaiden blinked. "Huh. But why – "

"He's had a number of challenges, to end that system. There are two generals that think he should just take orders like every other soldier, but right now his value as a fairly-independent operator has been in his favor." Anderson stopped, a growing sense of unease prompting him, "More than that, you'll have to ask Shepard. I shouldn't say any more."

"Best of both worlds," Alenko muttered. Then louder, "Thank you for your time, sir." Alenko stood to leave.

"Anytime Lieutenant. Is the good Commander back in action?"

"He's headed this way right now, Chief Williams told him Udina wanted to see him about the quarian, ah, Tali'Zorah." Alenko wondered at the look on Anderson's face, but didn't comment on it.

"Always the quiet ones." Anderson murmured softly. "He's clueless, but I think he likes it that way." Raising his voice, he nodded at Alenko. "Carry on, Lieutenant."

"Sir."

He watched the younger man leave, waiting until the door slid shut. "Kids these days," he intoned to the empty room. "The best of both worlds? Perhaps the worst."

* * *

Citadel, Alliance Docks

Wrex stopped directly in front of Shepard, blocking him, anger evident in his eyes. "Shepard. You got in my way. I warned you."

"You did." Shepard kept his back straight, matching the massive alien's intent gaze. The eye-patch made the maneuver slightly more swashbuckling than he'd intended. "I also remember saying I don't care what happened to Fist after my hostage was safe. What happened?"

The krogan growled, a deep, threatening rumble. "C-Sec happened, that's what. Took him right out from under my nose. Put him in a big truck and hauled him off. You caused that."

Shepard folded his arms. "My men, my responsibility, true. Do you want something for it?"

"Yeah," Wrex snorted. "I don't want to kill you, but you're in the way of my contract. Bad for business."

"It would be." Shepard settled his stance, fluidly dropping one hand to the butt of a pistol by his right hip.

The alien responded instantly, head snapping forwards while fading back with deceptively tiny steps. For such a large individual, Wrex almost floated, matching Shepard's smooth grace with a subtle, aggressive side-step. The aura given off by the pair was strong enough to cause the passers-by to veer away, trying to pretend as if nothing was occurring. It was that way in the wild: alpha fights rarely resulted in death, but until the conflict was over, it was better to avoid both combatants.

"What if I gave you a way to fulfill your contract?" Shepard noted Wrex's hand pause just above an armored compartment. "You may have had a contract, but I have a personal grudge against Fist, and have no desire to see him walk free, or live a long life in a cell."

The massive head cocked sideways. "You got a plan?"

"Not here." Shepard glanced around the platform, looking at the number of people milling around. The Alliance Dock was a big place, but not so big as to have copious amounts of free-space. "Later, when there's a bit more time."

"No. Now." Wrex planted his feet. "You can't run away from me here."

Shepard raised an eyebrow. "In the middle of an Alliance stronghold? One whistle and I'd bring more fire on you than the Hierarchy's Third fleet."

Wrex showed his teeth. "If they could get here fast enough. By then you'd be dead, and it'd be one krogan against a scared buncha pyjacks. But …" his eye-slits narrowed, "That's a shuttle. Talk there."

Turning, Shepard saw the vessel the krogan meant. It was an older Kodiak model, heavier than the version Anderson had ordered him to obtain for the _Normandy_.

"A bit obvious, but all right." Shepard led the way, using his rank credentials to unlock the shuttle. He made a quiet scan, shutting down the intercom system from the pilot's cabin to the passenger space, then running a quick sweep. No sense in being careless.

As soon as the door closed, Wrex turned to face Shepard. "Brave man, going into a shuttle with a krogan. Most folk call it suicide."

Shepard tapped a grenade at the side of his belt, not the lighter omni-tool manufactured variety, but a dedicated implement of explosive ruin. "I call it mutually assured destruction. Truce for now?"

"Until the door opens." Wrex promised. "Now talk."

Shepard showed his own teeth. "None of this ever happened. If you tell anyone, I'll deny it and remember that you told. Understood?"

"Beginning with threats?" Wrex's teeth gleamed an off-white color in the dim lighting, "Good. Standard agreement."

"Right." Shepard tapped his omni-tool, sending a data packet. "This is a locker in the public access bay, standard shipping container size. The code I just sent will unlock it for you; open it and go to the back. Get the case marked 'Happy Times;' it's the white box that will be sitting on the floor, in the back right corner. I think there are a few krogan size weapons there, take them if you want."

Wrex's eyes narrowed considerably.

"Once you have it, go to the private docking bay, number fifteen-D. Wait for Fist there." Shepard's voice lowered. "Inject him with one of the tubes from the box. Then, wait for me."

"What's to stop me from killing him right there? Lot simpler."

"Because I can pay double the original contract, and give Fist a much more … suitable reward for his deeds." Shepard held the krogan's gaze, "good enough?"

The krogan looked down under Shepard's gaze mulling over the offer, an interesting action considering his species. It indicated the alien wasn't solely a mercenary; that more than simple greed hid behind his decisions. The fact he seemed willing to take on the entire Alliance docking bay spoke volumes about both his judge of character, and the amount of experience at his command. Or stupidity, that could never be ruled out.

"You sure Fist will show up?" Wrex asked abruptly. "He'll run if he thinks he's got the chance."

"And Saren will give him one. Straight to the private docking bay." Shepard didn't bother to explain; Wrex had been in the business long enough to understand the subtext.

"Mmmmm." Wrex mulled the possibility. "You killing him with a poison?"

"Not killing him." Shepard let his upper teeth show again, "I want Fist to suffer. He's a slaver, a financial supporter of slavers. Saren paid him, I have no doubt, and I want C-Sec to drag every last detail about Saren from him. When they're done, he'll get his."

"The needle." Wrex didn't phrase it as a question.

"The needle. A paralytic agent variant, based off a newt in the _Taricha_ family on my homeworld, permanent effect. Full awareness, but no muscle control; helpless, just like his 'prizes.'" Shepard's eyes narrowed. "Then, he's getting stuffed in a Keeper tunnel, with a weak proximity grenade."

Wrex's head came up. The look in his eye was almost … respectful. "He can't move, and when a Keeper comes, the grenade kills it. Strong acid. "

"And he still can't move," Shepard nodded. "He'll sit in the acid until another Keeper shows up and drags him to the protein vats. Paralyzed, unable to do anything, but perfectly cognizant. Like his victims."

Fangs reflected the dim lighting. "I like the way you think, Shepard. It's easier to just shoot him … But so long as he ends up dead I don't care. When?"

"A week, maybe a month." Shepard lifted one shoulder expressively, "Let him think he's safe. I'll ask for a transfer to Alliance jurisdiction, and rig it so he thinks Saren's behind the extradition. A private shuttle ought to do it."

A deep, rough burst of noise came from the krogan. It repeated itself twice more before cutting off; a krogan laugh, Shepard realized. Like its species, it was hard-earned, and rarely seen in normal circumstances. The alien was growing on him. _Maybe he'd be amenable to a contract? I have to get his background_.

"And in the meantime, I stay on the Citadel?" Wrex gave him another close look.

 _Blast. Forgot about that. Can't leave Wrex on the Citadel without a purpose; C-Sec would put him on the next shuttle out in no time. Can't tell C-Sec I'm going to take their prisoner … maybe on the_ Normandy _? No background check, but krogan aren't known for sleeper agents. Bah, take a chance and put him where I can keep an eye on him._

"I'm going after Saren. I need people with experience in the Traverse, bounty hunters, contacts … I have much, but could always use more." Shepard cocked his own head at the krogan, "Know anyone who'd be interested in an advisor position on the _Normandy_?"

"Better call me a consultant. More action that way." Wrex gave Shepard a short nod, and turned his back. That last gesture did more than words to convey the big alien's mindset. Turning your back meant either no respect, or all the respect in the galaxy, to a krogan.

 _Decent of him._ Shepard thought. _Definitely have to an eye on him in the future. Brains and brawn are easy enough, but adding talent to the mix is so much harder to find._

With his new consultant accompanying him, Shepard made his way to the Alliance embassy.

* * *

One elevator ride, a trip over an invisible crack, and a subsequent fervent apology for mashing a turian child's face into a frozen treat, Shepard reached his goal.

He tapped the buzzer outside Udina's main door; the symbol shifted colors from orange to green at his touch. Shepard tapped it again, allowing the sensors to recognize his micro-trackers. Most people had them, even krogan. Kinetic feedback was enabled by those nanotech devices, vibrating at the impetus of whatever the interacting processor suggested.

 _Kind of like me_. Shepard stepped through the opening door, automatically glancing at the corners of the room, noting both Alenko and Williams waiting behind a desk. _I go in, see what's going, then report back. Sometimes there's problems to fix; and that's me again. A good life, all considered._

"Ah, Shepard!" Udina bustled around his desk to meet Shepard. Off to one side, a live screen with Anderson's visage still showing flickered. It shifted slightly, as if irritated about something, although most of the body language was hidden.

"You have news?" The ambassador tilted his head impatiently.

"Some. Miss Zorah here recovered data from a defective geth unit. Voice records of Saren at Eden Prime." Shepard gestured to the quarian, who was standing in the corner of the room.

Udina turned his focus on her. "Excellent, excellent. Now, my dear, how did you manage to acquire a defective geth unit?"

Her face mask tilted, annoyance evident in her posture. "By blowing its head off. Maybe it was damaged before I got there; most geth wouldn't have just snapped apart like that. Then I severed its main processor from the redundant backups, and did a flash-copy."

"Ah. Quite. Thank you." Udina made an abrupt about-face, turning to Shepard once more, blinking in unconcealed confusion. "You have the information, I presume?"

Shepard flicked his wrist, beckoning. Tali held up her wrist, letting a vague projection appear.

 _"Eden Prime was a major victory."_ The distinctive, flanged tones of a turian filled the room. _"The Beacon will bring us one step closer to the Conduit._ |

 _Conduit._ Shepard filed that under "Dangerous: Weapon Possible." Whatever a 'Conduit' was, it held importance to Saren, and therefore was important to his investigation.

 _"That places him on Eden Prime, enough to bring him in for questioning."_ Anderson's voice emanated from the speaker set in the table.

"Indeed." Udina's head sank into one palm. "It will look a little too pat though, a single file that somehow records the smoking gun?"

"Wait, there's more. Saren wasn't alone." Tali keyed her omni-tool once more.

Saren's smoothly modulated voice reverberated through the room, but a moment after it had finished its proclamation, a female voice agreed quietly. _"And one step closer to the return of the Reapers."_

Silence filled the room. The image of Anderson's face was still, as if in shock, while Shepard remained stock still. Only Wrex seemed unimpressed, he snorted, eyes on the projection warily.

"We have him." Udina's almost flaccid stance had changed to an alert aggressive one.

Shepard glanced at the ambassador. "Not quite. We still have a great deal of work to do. Actually catching Saren, for one."

"Yes, yes." Udina waved a hand, "that will come soon enough. Right now, we have all we need to convince the Council. Thank heavens you ran across that quarian."

"My name is Tali, Tali'Zorah nar Rayya." The quarian engineer's voice seemed annoyed. Williams, off to one side, seemed to smirk approvingly before Shepard lost sight of her face.

While Tali's initial appearance would not have inspired trepidation, Shepard had to admit; her fully kitted form was much more impressive than the thin undersuit she had been wearing before. Enough to carry a pair of heavier weapons than the undersized make-shift shotgun she'd been wielding earlier.

"Of course, Miss Zorah." Udina gave her a polite half-bow, "my apologies. You are on your Pilgrimage, I assume?"

Her neck was stiff. "Yes."

"You are progressing well, I trust?" Butter wouldn't have melted in the ambassador's mouth. An admirable trait, if used well.

"It could be going better," she admitted, shoulders still rigid. "But that is the point of a Pilgrimage. To learn."

Shepard interrupted. There was no purpose to either pandering or meaningless platitudes – either of which could have been Udina's goal. He was a politician after all. "She managed to get away from Saren's men, make it to the Citadel, and escape a hornets nest of slavers. Killed over a dozen as well. With a Bluewire I, no less."

Udina gave him a blank look.

Refraining from rolling his eyes, Shepard gave him the common wrist-twist gesture for an omni-tool. "A low-grade version. Like an old Soniba mark Five, from the 50s."

"Ah. Impressive indeed." Udina's face cleared, "I will personally make sure your assistance is sufficiently compensated. Is there any-"

Tali's back went straight. "I would like to join Commander Shepard's crew, if that is possible."

 _What?_ Shepard exchanged a glance with Anderson, electronic-relayed visage glancing at the human. _Did I hear that right?_

The ambassador seemed surprised as well. "I'm … sorry, did you request a berth on the _Normandy_? I'm afraid that is – "

 _"A most reasonable request."_ Anderson interrupted this time. Shepard saw Udina's fists clench for a moment, relaxing as Anderson continued. _"Miss Zorah performed the due-diligence needed to get this evidence, and is a target for Saren – given how Commander Shepard found you. If he has no objections, I would be glad to welcome you aboard."_

Shepard held back a flinch as the smooth-faced helmet turned his direction. Two reflective eyes peered at him with all the intensity his sister had once pointed his way. _Cheating. That's downright cheating, Anderson._

Mentally, he squared his shoulders. "If I may ask, Miss Zorah, why would you want to join me?"

The quarian gave a full-body shrug, something he'd seen the quarian marines aboard the _Normandy_ perform when asked a question with an obvious answer. "As your Captain says, Saren will likely come after me, once he learns what I did. My Pilgrimage can be served aboard your ship even better than on my own." Her voice fell, "I'd just … hoped to do my Pilgrimage in a more traditional way; many quarians have chosen to serve aboard Alliance vessels in recent years."

"You could still do that," Shepard offered. "If you want, I can get you a berth in Alliance Space, maybe a science expedition?"

Tali's body swayed, literally leaning backwards at the offer. "Nn … nnnooo, thank you. If what Saren is doing is hurting people, the quarians should help." "Do you know what they meant by 'Reapers,' sir?"

A flash ignited behind Shepard's eyes, darkening the room to near pitch-black. _One massive insectoid eye, pitiless as a deep-sea monster, peered through the darkness of countless lightyears to pin him beneath its gaze. Faint screams, of fear and rage rose and fell as the eye watched._

He shook his head, clearing the imagery. "Myths, from what I know. Legendary figures of death and destruction, unstoppable force … possibly a metaphor for that Conduit he mentioned. I'm more worried about that, honestly, and what Saren might want with it."

Udina clapped Shepard's pauldron with one hand. "Shepard's right, we need to focus on what is real, not fairy tales."

"If they're real," Shepard tried to keep his tone friendly, but with caution, "we need to account for it as a potential threat. At worst, we waste time for a non-existent threat. At best, we have a plan for the worst case scenario."

He turned back to Tali. "You wish to represent your people on the _Normandy_? I have a quarian squad aboard already, you know."

Her hands fiddled with each other, twisting around in a quarian version of 'twiddle-your-thumbs.' "Yes, but you saw me, I can take care of myself. And I want to help."

Shepard frowned, thinking. "Well," he began, "I'd like to see how you perform under different circumstances. But what you did in there was a good sample. Pending an evaluation, consider yourself hired."

"Thank you commander, I won't let you down!" the quarian almost bounced to his side, the opposite side as Wrex, he noticed.

Udina coughed. "We need to get to the Council. Shepard," his eyes passed over the aliens disapprovingly, "I would suggest you take only one person with you. Anderson will meet us at the Presidium Tower."

Shepard raised an eyebrow at the man, but stayed quiet. He exchanged a look with Wrex, who looked uniquely bored, shrugging indifference.

Shepard sighed, then triggered his omni-tool. "Chief Williams, please escort Miss Zorah and Wrex to the _Normandy_. If they need anything, talk to the quartermaster and tell him to charge me the balance. See if Vakarian is willing to accept the same contract as Wrex. If he is, offer him the same access to the quartermaster supplies." He turned to the lieutenant, still standing quietly behind one of the light stands. "Alenko, you're with me."

"Sir," The Lieutenant gave him a returning nod.

"Commander …" William's voice stopped him; it was – curiously emotional from the normally stolid marine. She was positioned half-way between the aliens and himself, shoulders tense. "Are you – certain?"

He met her eyes. "Yes Chief, I'm sure. Get Adams to help you once you're aboard. If you have any questions, come see me after I return."

"Aye aye." Her back stayed stiff, almost parade-ground straight.

Udina didn't pause, striding past the assembly to the door. "We need to move, Commander. The Council won't wait much longer. Anderson, did you hear?"

 _"On my way."_ The digital image winked out, stirring a wince from Shepard. Udina's aggressive attitude had grated on his nerves more than once, but that was what had made the man such a successful politician. Well, that and a healthy bank account on Earth, if you were cynical.

Just as he exited the Embassy, Shepard's omni-tool started vibrating, the special signal indicating a … unique message. "Alenko," he gestured at the ambassador further ahead, "Tell Udina I'll be there shortly. Got a priority call."

The Canadian raised an eyebrow, but picked up his pace, long legs eating up the distance easily.

Shepard slowed, flicking the visor over his eye. Fortunately, the damage had been in his off eye, or else the action would have been … awkward.

The message opened.

 _Pendragon,_

 _Excellent work! I managed to insert several drones in the Normandy's cargo bay. Use them as you can, but keep their origins quiet for now. They look like the standard model, but should have an exponentially increased sensor range. It was the least I could do, seeing as I completely missed the direction the Council is taking. I hope I'm wrong, but perhaps it was a mistake to expose them to the potential of nanotechnology quite so early in our relationship …._

 _Speaking of which, I've been hearing some odd rumblings from the_ Vasilias _– that is to say, the Rulers, or 'families' – on Thessia. There are a number of members that have been failing to … ah … manage familial duties, if my translation is correct. Councilor Tevos is one of the more visible faces; she may know more of what is going on, if you can speak with her._

 _I'm also forwarding everything I have on Saren's financial state to your Navigator, as per your request. Saren apparently acquired the assistance of one Matriarch Benezia – a highly respected asari diplomat. She, in turn, has been very, very busy. During the initial negotiations, Benezia was gifted with a full thirty percent share of nanotech profits from the same company in which you now hold a majority share. Given her formidable holdings, keeping an eye on her finances is more than I can handle, but I'll do what I can._

 _Since you have a strong position there, I've allocated resources to other locations. The Furies are still in Alliance Space, and I'm getting stretched thin, protecting as many resources as possible. They appear to be focusing on commercial sectors, hardly my area of expertise, but I've recently acquired several assets that are proving useful._

 _At any rate, enough of my nattering. Thank you for finding that element zero shipment for me. Be careful, be cautious and be cunning._

 _Emrys_

The visor clicked out of the edited mode just as the message twinkled into digital garbage. Shepard rolled his eyes at the theatrics; at least, he rolled an eye. The other one felt as if it had copied its twin's motion, but the patch made it hard to see well enough to tell.

He caught up to Alenko and reduced both of their rates somewhat. Body language was very useful in that regard; the actions of others could be subtly influenced with an almost subconscious level of control. In this case, turning slightly to indicate a desire to face Alenko, and reducing his walking speed prompted the ingrained habit to respond in kind.

"Everything all right, Commander?"

Shepard caught the honest look in Alenko's eyes out of the corner of his own, before it faded into an unreadable mask. "For the most part," he responded. "The _Normandy_ has more supplies, and I suspect it's almost ready for deployment. For real this time."

"Good." The lieutenant's voice sounded confident, assured. "Any idea what's going to happen now?"

The question coaxed a snort. _Many. None. Anything can happen, yet nothing if it is so decreed. Stars can die, people can live – but it doesn't always work how we want it too. Udina has some kind of plan going, and the Council is going to try something – probably in concert with the Ambassador. Doesn't have much to do with me, though. Spectre status is tanked thank heavens, and I can get back to work as soon as a real team can take on this Saren business … maybe they could call me in for the hit?_

"Some," was all he said aloud. "Won't know for certain until we get there."

Just as Shepard turned back to the front, the elevator door closed behind Udina's back, snapping shut centimeters before his nose, bringing him up short. _Now why did he do that? He asked us to come with …._

Shrugging, he hit the call-key for another elevator. It would take a while, but there was nothing but time.

* * *

Elevators on the Citadel moved at one speed: slow. The public explanation, as repeated by almost every groundskeeper on the Presidium, was that too much velocity would disrupt passengers as gravity fields shifted between levels.

Shepard's personal opinion was that the Council Races had failed to redo the programming burned into the Prothean station's hardware. Thousands of years, and very little progress had been made in modifying even the peripherals; something as intrinsic as public transport was deep in the coding.

 _Unless Protheans preferred to fly around,_ the thought crossed his mind idly, _maybe they had wings? Then elevators could just be used for bulk freight or wingless passengers. Had to have been more than one species back then … wonder what happened to them?_

The door opened, permitting the contemplation to evaporate. Shepard stepped into the Presidium Tower once more, noting the same places as before.

"Shepard." Anderson's voice called to him from further inside, "Glad you're here."

"Anderson," Shepard reached out and gently tapped the older man's upper arm, a familiar gesture. "Udina come by here?"

"He's presenting our case to the Councilors right now." Anderson's body posture was stiff, upset, very much unlike his normal relaxed stance.

"What?" Shepard stopped moving, turning to look Anderson full-on. "He started without his primary investigator?"

"Get a move on," Anderson gestured one shoulder at the stair steps leading upwards. "They've started."

In a matter of moments, Shepard stalked up the catwalk, approaching Ambassador Udina's position. Captain Anderson walked at his side, albeit more sedately. The stance came of practice; Shepard's naturally predatory movements complemented Anderson's stolid presence, a combination that intimidated those who weren't impressed. Those that were neither impressed nor intimidated likely already knew who they were, or soon would. It was an old routine, and had served them well.

 _"Eden Prime was a major victory,"_ A turian voice boomed throughout the Audience chamber, enhanced to a theatrical volume, reflecting off the vaulted ceiling like the voice of eternity. _" The Beacon will bring us one step closer to the Conduit."_

A second voice, higher and smoother answered as it had in the Embassy, _"And one step closer to the return of the Reapers."_

Shepard growled, deep in his throat, irritated. While his lack of presence in the initial arguments would lend to a lower profile, it also gave the appearance of Udina having performed all the work. Despite their tenuous friendship, the action tended to annoy him; the man was greedy at heart.

"There you have it, Councilors." Udina appeared to have timed his closing statements to tie in with their arrival. His dramatic flourishes were certainly pushing that aspect, pointing emphatically at the region Saren's hologram had occupied. "You asked for proof? There it is."

Shepard folded his arms. It was a silent method of refusal, showing that the listener did not trust all of what he heard. _Get on with it Udina. We don't have all day._

"This is troubling news," the salarian Councilor leaned forwards, fingers twitching. "Saren has access to all Spectre resources. Fleet movements. Information resources unique to his position." His hands blurred into action, dual omni-tool implants activating around each wrist. "Recommend removing his rank immediately! That is if Council agrees?" The flashing lights ceased moving.

Shepard nodded. _The lizard speaks the truth. Amphibian. Whatever._

"The traitor." Somehow, the lack of inflection made the word more sinister. A facet of the turian psyche Shepard was becoming more familiar with than he'd ever desired. Sparatus, the turian Councilor glared over his podium, "Agreed, Valern. I will go further and ask the Primarch of Palaven to send an alert on Saren Arterius. At the conclusion of this meeting the Turian Hierarchy will place Saren on a detainment order. Shoot if necessary."

 _Perhaps I misjudged the man?_ Shepard eyed the alien curiously, _but then, turians take betrayal rather personally. Glad I'm not Saren._

"Of course." The salarian councilor's hands resumed their motion, "Sending notification to STG immediately. Spectre update as well."

"Thank you, Ambassador Udina, for bringing this to our attention." Tevos leaned forward slightly in a deeper-than-gracious nod. "Our latest information places Saren's presence in multiple places, likely a ploy. We will investigate this as our highest priority."

"That's not good enough!" Udina snarled, "That man destroyed half of a human colony, and tried to bomb the rest into radioactive ash! Send your fleets! I want that monstrosity of his ship pulverized!"

The asari's neck straightened. "Sending a fleet would cause problems far beyond the Systems Alliance's borders, we cannot simply throw ships after one man, no matter how significant he is."

Shepard watched Udina turn red, swelling up like a bantam cockerel before firing back with a stronger diatribe. Beside him, Anderson exhaled slightly, a hint at the irritation buried beneath the surface.

 _Politics. Overdoing emotional reactions, hyperbole … I could never be a politician._ Shepard started counting rebuttals, almost as if it were a tennis match. _Udina, then Tevos. Over to Sparatus, fielded by Tevos and back to Udina. Valern interjects … and debunked by Udina … gotta admit, the man is sharp, like a shark._

Shepard watched the Ambassador give him a sideways look, disguised as a gesture of disgust, then return to the argument. At the same time Councilor Tevos examined him closely, like a hawk watching a particularly succulent mouse. _That was no coincidence … what do they want?_

The argument continued, but this time with a few side glances from Valern thrown his way as well. Sparatus seemed indifferent to what his colleagues were doing, interjecting only at choice points. The rest of the time he appeared to be impersonating a vulture on the podium, brooding and throwing dark looks everywhere.

 _Sparatus is one of the least-suited to political maneuvering. He isn't nearly as engaged as the others … why?_

Feigning disinterest, Shepard tightened his stance, pushing his shoulders back, emphasizing his armored form. Few cared to argue with a man attired as he, especially one who so pointedly remained aloof of the discussion.

Words flew faster, darting between the respective speakers like aggressive flights of birds. Udina's body language became tenser, and his shifting eyes were becoming more and more obvious.

 _This is actually kinda fun._ Shepard suppressed a grin at the Ambassador's expense. _You want something from me, to just open my mouth and say something? Well you're not getting it; friend you may be, but pushing me into the Spectre Candidate hot seat took some of the luster off of that title._

Tevos seemed to be getting flustered as well. Her statements were becoming less logical, more emotional than her reputation suggested.

He just enjoyed the exchange, watching the posturing. It was a pleasure, sitting in the point of power, yet not having anything to do with it. _I don't know what convinced them to tap me, but I'm not going to make it easy. Not easy at all – for once, I'm the most politically powerful person in the room._

The sound of a throat clearing itself barked from his right.

Shepard hid a groan. Surely Anderson wouldn't push the issue, even after he knew of Shepard's opinions?

"Councilors, Ambassador, if I may have a moment?" Anderson didn't look at Shepard.

Shepard's shoulders slumped before he caught himself. Whatever the blow, he'd take it like a Spartan. _But better looking._

"Yes, Captain?" Udina's voice held a trace amount of relief; considering the company he was in, and the training diplomats underwent to avoid that kind of tell, it must have been tremendous indeed.

"If I understand the situation, the Council doesn't want to send a fleet after Saren because he is travelling through the lesser-colonized regions. Is this correct?"

Tevos tilted her head at the captain. "Succinctly put; the Traverse is rife with non-affiliated activity, and the Terminus Systems have never fully acknowledged Council authority. Sending a fleet in their midst would undoubtedly cause an upheaval with which we are not prepared to deal.

The captain turned back to Udina, "Ambassador, you want to see Saren punished for his crimes, more deliberate action that you can see without going through Council Fleet Command, right?"

"That is accurate." Udina responded; relief was coming off him in waves now.

Shepard closed his eyes, making one last attempt "Anderson?"

"Then perhaps we can compromise. Send Commander Shepard, and perhaps a support team. That way the Council avoids sending an entire fleet, and the Alliance can have close-tabs on everything." Anderson gestured at Shepard, "He is already on the short list for Spectre evaluation, and carries the trust of the Alliance."

"An excellent idea!" Udina chimed in, "Councilors?"

Shepard ignored the muttering sounds; privacy fields kept the majority of conversation from reaching his ears anyway. It just felt too … exhausting now. No matter how hard he tried, how far he ran … he couldn't get away. _Stupid Shepard. You should have run when you had the chance; you didn't run on Mindoir or Elysium, you didn't run on Akuze. How long until you learn?_

The timbre of voices shifted slightly; not much, but enough to garner his attention.

Opening his eyes, Shepard noticed more observers in the galleries, like the chambers that flanked the halls of the Alliance Parliament. Not as in dozens of watchers, but hundreds. Mini drones with watchful lenses were beginning to hover over the crowd, advertising what had to be Council media networks.

 _Great_. He kept emotion from his face; any public function he'd needed to perform had required at least basic control. _Not only am I railroaded into this, I get to be publicly humiliated. I wonder if Mom is watching …? She watches the news pretty religiously – no. Don't think about it._

Sparatus interrupted his thoughts. "Commander Shepard, while your capabilities are well within the requirements for our Spectre program, I am afraid we cannot grant you the position. While the Alliance is a highly valued ally, it has not as an associate member race of the Council. You are indeed a worthy candidate, but as a foreign national not subject to our laws, it would not be right to make you an enforcer of Council Authority."

Shepard's initial sense of jubilation took a dive. Prefacing a statement with a negative, in such a public setting, was merely window-dressing, followed by a positive.

"However, the Attican Traverse and Terminus Systems are territories, not member systems. If you agree to confine your activities requiring Council authority to those regions, and will permit an acknowledged expert in Council Law accompany you," Sparatus twitched resignedly, "then the Council will grant you a probationary level Spectre Status."

A collective gasp escaped the predominant susurration from the gallery. That, more than anything else, finally broke Shepard's resistance.

He looked Udina in the eye, glaring at the man for one precious second. _Don't think I'm a lapdog, someone to send to fetch whenever you please._

Finally, he faced forward, while avoiding looking at the beings complicating his life. He could accept for now, then turn it down inside a few weeks, citing some difficulty or other. _A solution that made everyone unhappy – and therefore an excellent compromise._ "Councilors," he gave a formal partial-bow, no more than thirty degrees, but held for a count of one and a half breaths, "On behalf of the Alliance, I thank you for this honor."

Councilor Valern folded his hands atop the podium. "Commander Shepard, due to the circumstances, I am afraid there will be no investiture ceremony. Former Spectre Saren has attained a formidable advantage. Pursue him to the best of your abilities; the Council will offer whatever assistance befits the situation."

 _Load of codswallop. Politicians will help only when it makes them look good._ Shepard thought, but kept his feelings quiet, "I understand, Councilors. I will begin immediately."

Tevos's face twitched; he couldn't tell if it was a grimace or a smile. "May the goddess watch over you, Commander. All of us will contact our respective governments and ensure you receive the utmost in cooperation."

Shepard took a slight amount of pleasure in seeing Udina's imitation of a largemouth bass, a fish he'd once sought while on survival training. Sadly, it wasn't a long-lasting moment.

"Commander, I will head back to my office. Come, Captain; we have much to discuss." The politician didn't wait for a response. His somewhat un-athletic form paraded back down the extension towards the Presidium Tower elevator, pride in every step. It had to be a political thing, although to be strictly honest, the man had just overseen one of the largest political pushes in galactic history.

Thinking on the matter didn't assuage Shepard's view, however. His fairly low-profile appearance – despite the numerous business appearances – was well and thoroughly shot. "What price have we paid?" he muttered quietly.

He hadn't realized Alenko was standing so close. "Sir?"

Shepard glanced at him, then at the cameras. Reporters were already descending on the floor on the right-hand side, making a beeline for his position. _Great, they'll plaster my face over every flatscreen on the Citadel. Unless I move._ He glanced back at Councilor Tevos, gauging the distance. If he hurried, he could ask about the _vasilias_ issue … but the reporters were getting too close.

"Never mind." Shepard moved diagonally to the reporters, getting behind several large planters. It was a short run from there – _fast walk, not run_ – around a series of increasingly taller displays, then a brief shuffle around some of the more convoluted statuary. Seconds later, he was well out of the main chamber, safely ensconced in one of the subsidiary areas.

He paused, taking his bearings. Only an older Alliance admiral was present, speaking urgently into one of the ubiquitous high-speed terminals that dotted the station. A quiet fountain bubbled in the center of the plaza, somehow looking natural amongst the non-reflective metal flooring and greenery.

"Commander, how did you know about this?" Kaiden's voice came from Shepard's right.

"Mmm?" Shepard studied the admiral, the rankings indicated a certain amount of seniority, yet the dialogue engaged was about an Alliance team ... curious.

"You knew how to get here pretty well, have you been here before, or did you get lucky?" Kaiden persisted.

"Oh, that," Shepard dismissed the question as politely as possible. "I've been on the Citadel a time or two before. You know how it is on a station; privacy is always valuable."

"Of course," Kaiden seemed to catch the implied directive, "Um, so what now?"

Shepard checked the path he'd taken. No one seemed to have followed him – but he didn't live there, a native would know all the paths. The route to the _Normandy_ would be watched, as probably the path to the Alliance Embassy. Perhaps C-Sec would be safe, if approached from the right direction … maybe the Keeper Tunnels, if he were careful to not be seen?

 _"I'm sorry Admiral, but the resources for a search simply aren't available right now."_ A digitally enhanced voice caught his attention. _"You know the procedure as well as I do Kahoku, a Missing Persons report has to be processed through Intelligence when it's a scouting mission."_

"I know," the admiral hung his head, shoulders slumping, "this was supposed to be so simple. Go in, take a look, get out quietly."

 _"Yes … and because we've known each other so long, I'm not saying anything. I warned you to not dig in old graves … is this a secure terminal?"_

Kahoku's head snapped up, peering left then right. He froze, upon seeing Shepard. "I'll call you back."

The man's hand twitched, cutting the call. "You are?"

Shepard kept a somewhat relaxed posture. "Commander Shepard of the SR-1 _Normandy_. This is Lieutenant Kaiden Alenko, also of the Normandy."

The man's shoulders went back, "You're with Captain Anderson? The N7?"

"Yessir," Shepard felt pride in the fact, "I've worked with him for a number of years now. Good man."

Kahoku relaxed further. "You are Commander Shepard, the N7 Plus he talked about so much?"

"I don't know about 'so much,' but there is only one Plus I know of that is also a Shepard. Me."

"Oh thank God," the admiral put one hand on his heart, as if feeling its palpitations. "Whatever are you doing here? This is the last place I'd expect to see you …"he gestured, indicating their surroundings.

"You heard how Eden Prime was attacked? Spectre Saren Arterius was behind it. The Council just made me some provisional authority, so I can work in Council space. Then, reporters … it doesn't matter what species, they're all jackals."

"Aha." Kahoku's face twitched, then went still. "Reporters? Looking for you? Here?"

"Yes – the 'ceremony,'" Shepard made the word questionable with an elegantly placed inflection, "ended less than five minutes ago. This was a quiet place, so – "

"I have to go." Kohoku gave the place they'd entered a quick look, and hurried in the opposite direction. "Look for a message from me soon. It's important!"

Shepard watched the Admiral's retreating back, perplexed. "Wonder why he did that …."

"Who knows." Kaiden glanced behind himself as well, nudging Shepard's arm. "We better get moving too; no clue how long they'll be looking for you. Or me."

"Shoot! I didn't think of that!" Shepard pulled up his omni-tool, activating its communication function. " _Normandy_ , this is Commander Shepard. Please advise all _Normandy_ personnel to be on the alert for potential media interference. Conclude your business as soon as possible, and return to the _Normandy_. That is all, Shepard out."

He shared a look with the biotic lieutenant. "Quick and quiet, back to the _Normandy_."

* * *

Shepard breathed a sigh of relief upon spotting the familiar swept-wing shape of the stealth frigate. Only the normal business appeared present; drones of a purely industrial nature floated around the frigate, with nary a civilian in sight.

"Shepard!"

He turned, noticing both Anderson and Udina standing near the boarding hatch to the _Normandy_. The features on Anderson's face were remarkably static, as if he were suppressing a reaction – something he did only when 'on the job,' so to speak.

"Captain, Ambassador." Shepard attempted to pass the two, but stopped when Anderson shook his head slightly.

"Great things, Shepard. We have news!" Udina seemed ready to practically float towards him, hand outstretched. "Congratulations, we finally have what we need to capture Saren!"

Shepard tilted his head to one side, studying the ambassador. "We've always had that capacity. This just allows us to follow him into Council space." He paused, then voiced a question, "I'm still not exactly certain why they needed so much from us in the first place. The right of pursuit is routine business, even in an inter-galactic setting."

Was it just him, or had Anderson flinched?

"I'll take care of the political side of things," Udina finally came to a less enthusiastic bounce, "you worry about catching Saren. Which brings me to why we're here."

 _Why_ you _are here._ Shepard glanced at Anderson. _The captain has a place by his ship, and I am a member of its crew. What's the politician doing here?_

"In order to catch Saren, you are going to need the best: that's the _Normandy_."

No, he couldn't mean that.

"She's quick, and she's quiet." Anderson's arms had yet to unfold, apparently not directed at Shepard, but still cold. "The crew trusts you, and that's the most important part. Take care of her, Commander."

Shepard felt his jaw drop, a feat he hadn't believed anyone capable of inducing in years. "You're – stepping down? Now?"

Udina bounced in again, "Captain Anderson has agreed you have a higher need for this than the 63rd fleet. I've sent the necessary paperwork to Admiral Mikhailovich, detailing how the Alliance's First Spectre is appropriating the _Normandy_. He was rather combative about its creation with the Salarians and Turians, so I doubt he will have much of a problem letting it go." Udina clapped Anderson's shoulder, "Besides which, Anderson tells me the crew is handpicked to be the best of the Alliance, and that is where you shine, Shepard. You've shown great leadership skills before, and you can do so here. Which reminds me …."

Udina reached to his omni-tool and tapped a few keys. A screen extended from his wrist, just as a vibration told Shepard he'd received a high-level message. "You are now in charge of the investigation in the actions of one former Spectre Saren Arterius, in respect to his presence on Eden Prime and the Geth uprising. You will be assigned a parallel Council representative when you are within Council Space, but have free jurisdiction in the Attican Traverse, the Terminus Systems and Alliance Space."

"Wait, wait just a minute." Shepard felt his hackles going up, restraining them with a bit of effort. He took a breath, calming the irritation of being manipulated yet again – this was an attempt to help him after all. "You mean to say I'm taking over the investigation, and being given full command of the _Normandy_?"

Udina bobbed up and down. "Exactly. Well done, Commander."

Shepard knew sarcasm when he heard it, even when it was veiled by friendly words. He considered himself an amateur specialist in the lost art of irony.

"Leading an official investigation is a full-time job. Being Captain of a ship is a full-time job. Being Commander of a ship is a full-time job. Where am I going to fit all this in? I can't do all three jobs at once, even if I am pretty efficient about what I do." He gave Anderson a pleading look – another thing he was unaccustomed to doing. "Taking away the leadership will hardly endear the crew either; a Commander enforces the Captain's will, he doesn't make friends."

Anderson chuckled dryly, but stayed silent.

"Anderson has arranged for additional crewmembers for you," Udina's voice sounded a little strained, apparently unused to pushback. "You will need to choose a new executive officer of course, but the majority of your duties can be performed by a specialist team. You will need to select members for that team, but once they're present, you can devote the majority of your time to what needs to be done most."

That didn't sound ominous at all. _What else are you hiding from me?_ Shepard looked at Anderson once again, dropping the mask enough to convey his wishes.

Anderson sighed, closing his eyes. "Shepard … I had a shot at being a Spectre, you know that. I … have history with Saren. If I'm involved with the hunt, there will be accusations. I'll taint your investigation, and I can't do that to you."

Shepard groaned audibly, rubbing his good eye. "Then why did you sign on in the first place? Why did you sign _me_ on? I could be doing something useful rather than playing nursemaid to some egghead think tank."

"Commander," Anderson's voice was sharp, reproving. Shepard found himself unable to care. "You have a job, and it needs to be done. Yes it's hard, but that hasn't stopped you before. Are you refusing the task?"

 _Yes. No. Maybe …_ Shepard had to wrestle himself into submission. _I've been hoodwinked into this. Shanghaied. The spider caught in the steel web, the shark in jaws of iron. How did I miss all of this? I could refuse … but how many bridges would I burn? Yes the Council thinks I'm going to do it … but that was just to gain time …._

"A moment to think, Captain?" Shepard felt, more than heard Udina's exclamation of disbelief.

"Take as much as you need, Commander." Anderson's eyes were softer now, almost … sympathetic? He couldn't tell.

Shepard stepped back, pacing towards the edge of the metal extension, mind whirling. He wasn't worried about falling off while distracted; security ensured force fields that kept people from jumping off – a regulation that came from some turian mutiny trial centuries before. Apparently an entire ships' crew had committed mass suicide after being informed of their treason.

That's interesting, but not germane. Shepard's feet found the edge and guided him along its precipice. _I can always refuse, claim the colony doesn't believe this to be the best use of my time. That would incinerate any future usage though; too much blatant favoritism – which it is, honestly._

His feet wandered around a cargo block, wending their way further down the path. _Or, I agree and take over the hunt. The simplest method is to just kill Saren from a thousand meters; nobody gets up after a few supersonic grams of lead are imbedded in their brain. Efficient, if a bit messy. Then I could quit the Spectres and go back to the real work._

 _Why would I want to do this as a Spectre though?_ He stopped at the edge, peering at the Citadel from his height. _Alright, let's turn this around. Why wouldn't I want this? Power, authority … access to resources I don't normally have …._

That sparked another train of thought. _Three colonists left. Every time I get close, someone moves them, either in or out of Council space, and it takes me months to track them down again. If I have access to Council resources, I could cut that into a fraction of the time._

The more he pondered that angle, the more he liked it. _All three down, and then I can finally rest. Retire. Maybe not on Mindoir, not any more, but somewhere they haven't heard of nanotechnology or slavers … maybe an asteroid in the middle of nowhere … can I actually be thinking of retirement_?

Slowly, he turned, looking back at the _Normandy_ and indirectly, the crew within. _I can work with them, they need some help getting everything set up for my replacement, once I get Saren. The brass won't want me in charge for too long; ambition is always feared by the ambitious. But, they're a good crew; maybe I could think of it as a mobile base for the investigation … host the Red team for brainstorming … yes, this could work._

Straightening, he walked back to Anderson, feeling a great deal lighter. Udina started to speak, but stopped. Shepard looked Anderson straight in the eye. "I'll do it."

Udina started talking, but the more significant action was the approving glint in Anderson's posture. Ever so slightly, the older man inclined his head, acknowledgement of the difficulty of Shepard's decision ... somehow, a gesture that meant less, with the older man's refusal to help.

He just wished the approval hadn't caused so much pain.

* * *

 _ **A/N: Greetings once more, Chuck here. Classes go well, and the writing is very calming for the mind. Helpful for organic chemistry.**_

 _ **Thanks to Raw666 for the quarian Pilgrimage idea, using Alliance vessels for the most part.**_

 _ **Belated thanks also to Finnish Paragade, for adding a color to the N7 armor (and title).**_

 _ **I'd also like to thank thepkrmgc; your suggestion had merit, and I hope you liked the political buildup :)**_

 _ **My suggested reading for this chapter is Random Equinox's "The Hero Rises" (ID#** 10949645). **This writer is one of the best on FanFic, and has multiple other works (completed, no less!) fit for viewer consumption.**_

 _ **Like what you're reading? Dislike? Why? Review or PM if you want to see changes; I can't promise to take all ideas, but those that can work will get full credit.**_

 ** _Until next time!_**


	9. A Little Travel Music, Please

_The adage: "Good things come to those that wait," has parallels in every culture. My personal_ _favorite is by Benjamin Franklin: "He who can have patience, can have anything he wants."_

 _I wanted Cerberus dead, among other things._ _W_ _hat Shepard wanted he never said. But something he had, was patience._ _Not the mindless ability to focus on minutiae, but honest-to-tuna perseverance. It was reflected in his hobbies, fishing and keeping poisonous insects. He kept up his metal-working skills, and used them to improve his armor and weapons. Once in a while, he even journeyed to where a classical music concert was being performed, and stayed from beginning to end._

 _That last one was proof enough for me. I have trouble going through a single playlist I like without changing tracks. Sitting in one place, stuck watching_ _half-a-hundred_ _people actually playing the music in front of me sounds like a novel form of torture to me. Yet he did it, and fairly often._

 _Under the circumstances, I suppose I should not have been surprised, but a number of crewmen also enjoyed music. His little collection didn't remain secret very long._

 _~Arnold Pavenmeyer,_

 _Project_ _Ragnarök_

* * *

[ _SR-1 Normandy_ , Widow System, Serpent Nebula]

[1322, Tuesday]

Shepard stood behind Joker's chair, gazing at the stars visible through the double-vacuum sealed panels. Glass windows were a luxury, and useless for most tactics, but having them in place was a godsend for docking maneuvers. More data could be inferred from a single glance than a dozen graphs. Not that they'd be taking off soon; checklists had to be completed, flight paths charted. Pilots to humor.

"Sorry to hear that about the Captain," Joker muttered from his seat. "You survive a hundred battles, and then get taken down by politics. Life lessons around every corner, huh?"

Shepard shrugged. "Always watch for politics; it's ruined more careers than bullets in my mind."

Joker snorted. "Ain't that the truth. So, you want to address the crew?"

"Eh?" Shepard gave his pilot an inquisitive look, cocking an eyebrow at the pilot. "Why would I? They see me all the time."

The smaller man turned the chair slightly, "You may own the boat Commander, but up here, I make the cynical comments, thank you very much. Let me ask you again: Do. You. Want. To. Address. The. Crew?"

"Um," Shepard tried studying Joker's face. It didn't appear to be attempting yet another jest, but the words he was saying didn't make sense. The entire crew knew that Captain – that is, Anderson – had been essentially fired, and he himself had been given control. Why rub their collective face in it?

Joker rolled his eyes. "Y'know, to give them a mission statement, tell them what's going on? Official news instead of scuttlebutt that grows another leg at every telling?"

"Ah." Shepard considered the idea for a moment. There was a certain amount of logic to the helmsman's statement – but making a public address? That … that was certainly not in the original plan.

He looked back at the pilot. "Would there be any chance I could talk you into relaying it for me?"

The response did not bode well. Joker sagged into his chair, looking almost defeated by the very idea. "Great. I get the only officer that doesn't like making speeches. Shoot me now, okay?"

Shepard sighed. "Fine, set up the link." He waited until the tiny screen lifted away from the panel, floating just in front of his mouth. Briefly, he closed his eyes, praying for inspiration.

"This is Commander Shepard. As you may already know, Captain Anderson has stepped down as Captain of the _Normandy_ , and I have been recently informed that I will serve as his replacement." The words hurt, but they were honest – the most important quality in any relationship. "Our orders are simple: stop Saren, the man responsible for attacking Eden Prime, and a hundred other crimes that can't be traced."

He glanced at Joker, who gave a thumbs up, then looked back at the neon orange microphone-piece. "This is a mission too big for just us, so several members of the Council races have joined us. More will arrive, please make them welcome aboard the _Normandy_." He lowered his voice into the confident alpha-male tones. "We _will_ accomplish our task; I have complete confidence in you. Thank you, and God bless the Alliance." The microphone clicked off.

"Well said, Commander," Joker's hands busily tapped another sequence, "You running for office or something?"

Shepard laughed, one short bark. "Heavens no. The galaxy would be in _real_ trouble if I did. Better to sit in the back seat; more room to stretch out there."

Joker's surprised laughter filled the cockpit, easing the moment, if only for a little.

* * *

The _Normandy's_ galley was a central point for its crew, a facet of ship design insisted upon by its salarian co-designers. The designers had taken one key aspect of humanity, and incorporated it within the ship's plan: people love food. Eating was a method for socializing, for making friends or just confirming each other's existence. Therefore, the _Normandy_ boasted a complete dining area, with gravity-based washing utilities, stasis units, a refrigeration unit, and multiple heating appliances.

Tables, with the accompanying benches, were designed to fold into the floor during combat maneuvers, leaving an open floorplan. Someone – no one knew who – had once hijacked the ship's firmware to actually collapse one of the tables while it was being used; highly amusing for the majority involved. Fortunately, safeties had prevented limbs from being crushed, but the potential had been seen.

Shepard sat at his normal location, going over the duty roster. While Pressley had graciously offered to take over that portion of the XO position, he'd grown used to the task, and kept it. For now, anyway.

 _Engineering dayshift teams seem to be working alright._ A checkmark studded column presented itself for his approval; _Daytime second shift efficiency is up … wait … thirty percent? How did that happen?_

The numbers scrolled upwards, giving him a point-by-point explanation. The rubric seemed to indicate that the computer systems in the engineering section had finally been debugged two weeks prior, which seemed to have helped quite a bit. Replacing parts had boosted quality, but not efficiency – which left personnel. The last report had given a fifteen percent increase, but that had been nearly a full week prior. This seemed to indicate someone had been helpful in the recent past – something to investigate with Chief Adams at some time.

 _Roster check. Hmmm, only new person aboard is … aha. The quarians managed to get here then, finally._ Shepard ticked another item off a second checklist. He'd have to remember to make sure Adams had extra tridactyl hardware, and base sixteen translators. Three fingers apparently still made for odd counting issues, despite the proliferation of quarian workers in Alliance space.

 _Later then,_ Shepard made a note, countersigning the report. _On to the Science department. Hmmm, good. Same as last week, a little cold bug making the rounds, but on its way out. Good; hate to see sickness take down a shift._

He paused, watching the hulking form of the krogan make its way past. It maneuvered itself past the kitchen area, selecting entire trays of nutrient-rich paste. A unique choice, since there were entire cartons of fresh meat stashed under the counter and hundreds if not thousands of pounds in deep freeze. Despite hundreds of years of tinkering, low temperatures were still the best method of food preservation.

 _Eh._ Shepard returned to his tablet. _So long as I don't have to make any speeches, he can eat whatever he wants._

The mess hall was at a low state of activity; understandable given the late hour. There was just enough background noise to cover soft footsteps on the deck plates, keeping him alert.

Mentally, Shepard went through the people he'd seen that evening, since the power transfer. They'd been understanding, encouraging even. A couple had seemed to have believed in skullduggery of some sort, like he'd arranged for the whole thing. Shepard's frown deepened. The latter had been especially true of that young fellow Caswell; practically every word he'd spoken was an allusion to potential alternatives, boiling down to simple disbelief.

 _How he got to his rank with that kind of integrity I do not know._ Shepard made a note to keep a closer eye on the technician. He hadn't forgotten what Anderson had told him, how Caswell had attempted to abscond with Shepard's broken omni-tool. Officially, the young man had been transporting evidence to storage. In his own mind however … _If you believe that, would you be interested in buying a bridge?_

A quiet beep reminded him of his duties. There were papers to fill out, assignments to authorize, and – he gulped – a cabin to personalize. Anderson's former cabin, to be precise. It would take some effort, but it could be refitted into a suitable planning center. Projectors, large-screens for the walls, as much data as could be dug out from every possible source … then, he could make plans.

Real plans.

That shifted his attention to the short list on his tablet. Three names presented themselves for inspection, tiny words for the difficult decision ahead _. Therum. Feros. Noveria._ Three places with equal values of importance; a prothean specialist, an erstwhile prothean colony, and Saren's primary investment base. _Which to reach first?_

He sighed. While the colony would be the most likely site for raw information, the specialist was a higher priority to understand it. Few Prothean historians were amenable to traveling on a military vessel; constant movement deterred many from leaving their ivory towers.

The next question: begin an investigation to Saren's finances immediately, or go for the specialist first?

 _Well, the paper trail will go cold if I leave it too long, but the data hasn't come through yet. Could take a day or three for the entire workup to be finished. More, since half of what he has is redacted for half its life._

A different chime demanded his attention, presenting a small list of messages. Two held the triple black diamond motif of the ICT, a set of general bulletins indicating one of their own had just been awarded a high honor – namely a position as Spectre for the Council. Several more messages scrolled into viewing range as he watched, congratulatory notes, for the most part.

One message, bearing the delta-encircled Earth symbol of the Alliance, appeared at the top of his list. There was no marking indicating urgency, yet it remained at the apex of the steadily growing list, a useful trick known to a few programmers.

Shepard accessed it immediately. This message box was a very limited one, the address known solely by a select number of Alliance brass, mostly other members of the ICT. Many were officers, but few had the capacity to encode their messages like that. The very existence of the messenger service was almost a state secret in and of itself; what could be important enough to break silence?

The tablet linked to his eyepiece, shunning the publicly seen omni-tool.

 _Shepard,_

 _If you have time, contact me officially. We lost several nuclear warhead-tipped missiles during the First Contact War, and one just showed up again. I have a black ops squad standing by if you cannot assist; but I had just heard of your promotion. Otherwise I would not have contacted you._

 _Use discretion._

 _~ H._

Deleting the note took a moment, giving Shepard time to think. Admiral Hackett was trustworthy, more so than half of the politically-minded Intelligence department. Yet, the man was not without resources of his own – example A would be the referenced stealth team. A nuclear missile was certainly high priority, but the vastness of space made nuclear threats pathetically simple to counter. Ballistic weaponry travelling across millions of miles of open space couldn't evade a simple GARDIAN system – the further the distance, the easier it was to counter.

That meant politics. The bane of his existence.

Shepard inhaled a deep breath, silently counting to five, held it for another count of three, and then released it. Breathing exercises were surprisingly helpful. Inexpensive, quick, and not exceedingly noticeable.

His inbox chimed once more, indicating a priority message to one of his more public accounts. Despite all the business dealings he had to work with, there were a limited number, but still more than the average Ethernet user. This one was his official Alliance military address, and received the most messages.

 _Commander Shepard,_

 _I am forwarding the paperwork sent to me by the Councilors. While you will not have the majority of Spectre authority within Council Space proper, they have given you the permits for carrying weapons, authorizing your associates to carry weapons in your presence etc._

 _Since you are essentially being given licenses in three different nations, there may be some redundancy. Please sign them as soon as possible; one of them involves interstellar travel, so the sooner you do it the faster you can leave the Citadel._

 _Ambassador Udina_

 _Chief Envoy for the Systems Alliance_

 _Alliance Embassy, Citadel_

Vibrations under Shepard's feet told him the engine was fully online, calibrations complete. Adams had tried explaining it to him once, but the mathematical relationship between a black hole and Element Zero shielding was well above his own comprehension. What made the action significant was in how it indicated movement; the _Normandy_ was underway. More importantly, on its way out of the Citadel without his signing the forms.

Quickly, Shepard checked over the list again. Therum was in Council space, a region claimed by the turians. Noveria was in human space, therefore not requiring any more permissions than he already had, and Feros was likewise in human space – but required passage through Council space for fastest travel. Shortcuts could be made through Relays in Council territory, but it would cut only a few days off transit either way.

 _Better be safe than sorry._ Shepard made a quick copy of the forms, and forwarded them. One set went to a quarian law firm he'd backed on Mindoir; they held little love for Council machinations, and could be trusted to spot tricky fine print. A second copy went to a Volus Protectorate legal firm on the Citadel; 'Korlus and Sons' by name. The third copy had to go to Earth; politics rearing its ugly head again.

He keyed the send icon before collapsing the screen. _Better see what the good Admiral wants. Comm room should be good for now._

The communication center held a place of honor, the very center of the _Normandy_ , above the cargo bay but below the main action deck. Technically it also occupied some of the upper and lower portions of those levels, but the ship's construction left one barely aware of the missing space. Salarians had been developing spacecraft for millennia, and knew their art well.

Shepard keyed his access code into the panel, then sat back, waiting.

 _"SSV Benjamin Davis, Colone_ _l_ _O'Riley_ _speaking. How may I help you Commander?"_ A young man, apparently in his mid-thirties and in utility garb appeared on the viewer.

 _A bird colonel? What's a ground pounder doing as Hackett's personal_ … the specifics of the secretive message percolated through his mind. _Officially._

"Colonel," he inclined his head. While their ranks were roughly equivalent, protocol dictated they remain formal. "I would like to speak with Admiral Hackett, if he is available."

The projection faded to the Alliance delta symbol, spinning in place. Fitting, considering his target audience.

 _I wonder what he wants …_ Shepard deliberated once more. Admiral Hackett was one of the few men Shepard truly respected, rather than merely tolerated. As a Captain during the First Contact War, Hackett had been wounded in the line of duty, then insisted his men receive medical treatment before himself, resulting in a permanent scar the best of medical expertise couldn't fix. The man had gone on to higher commands, a meteoric climb that lead to command of the Fifth Fleet. That post was one of the most prestigious in the Alliance; dedicated to rapid response, known throughout the entire Alliance fleets for their incredible precision.

He shifted into a more strategic mode of thought. The _Normandy_ had originally been slated for the 63rd Scouting flotilla, within the Fifth Fleet. If that were still the case, would he be literally under Hackett's command? During wargames, opposing the Fifth Fleet with its complete lack of Super-class battleships would ordinarily be met with a feeling of relief. However, that fleet countered its lack of heavy firepower with the fastest launching carriers in the Alliance, and heavy-fire tactics that had created records.

 _"Commander Shepard, to what do I owe this pleasure?"_ A hoarse voice boomed from the speakers.

Shepard stiffened, chagrined. "Sir, thank you for your time. Do you have a moment?"

 _"Of course,"_ the admiral responded. _"I wouldn't have answered if I hadn't."_ He gave Shepard an expectant look.

"Right," Shepard considered a possible cover story, one of many potential excuses at his disposal. "I was recently … given a new rank. It's not really something I can agree with, but it might be useful."

 _"I'd heard,"_ Hackett's voice was as unchanging as a frozen lake, smooth but in complete control. _"Congratulations by the way. It is a significant achievement, for the Alliance and yourself."_

"Thank you sir," Shepard moved on quickly. _Be vague, but act as if you know more._ "Sir, I've been hearing some rather interesting things from within Council space. It's a bit over the normal pay grade, so I was hoping you could shed some light on the situation."

Hackett's image exhaled loudly. _"I'd hoped that would have been quiet for a bit longer. I assume you're talking about the missile issue?"_

It was a terrible cover story; anyone who actually investigated the conversation would see it for what it was: a flimsy attempt at obfuscation. But, very few people investigated what was insignificant – and a single short conversation between a captain to his allegedly immediate superior fit that designation nicely.

"Indeed," Shepard nodded wisely, "Given what we both know about how that situation got started, perhaps I could assist you in the matter?"

A dry chuckle emanated from the speakers, positioned well enough to make the life-size projection feel as if it were actually laughing. _"You read my mind, Commander. I'll send you the coordinates. Are you certain you can spare the time?"_

"Easily." Shepard gave a dismissive gesture towards the doorframe behind his position, "The Council wants me to pick up a Prothean expert, and I found out about a colony one of Saren's major stockholding companies is very interested in. Otherwise, I'm running a simple forensic sweep."

Hackett leaned forwards, interested. _"Have you brought SAIS in on this?"_

"No." Shepard frowned, "I sent a general data request through the channels, but I'm counting on getting more reliable data from the IAC. (1) Their auditors are pointing at several targets right now, but that's getting narrowed down."

 _"I see."_ Hackett folded his arms. _"Play it how you want Commander. Just remember the rest of us have to live with them."_

"Sir." Shepard saluted, taking it as a dismissal.

 _"And Commander,"_ the blue-tinted projection stopped him from closing the connection, _"I just wanted to let you know you have the support of the entire Fifth Fleet. We're already moving out … on maneuvers. Should you need a friend or two … give me a call."_

A second later, the projection blinked off, leaving a new data file in its place for him to open. Surprisingly, its boilerplate warnings only gave the standard encryption codes, not the time-intensive coding he would have expected. Especially given the sensitive nature of the information contained.

Shepard's eyebrows rose as he read. An old espionage probe had given its 'target acquired' confirmation signal, a three second burst on seldom-used frequencies. Triangulation had placed it in the Voyager Cluster, only one Primary Relay and a Secondary jump from Earth.

 _That doesn't make sense_ ; Shepard frowned. The brief summary on the espionage probe's history indicated that the weapon should have been aimed towards Council space, a full one-eighty degree shift. What could have altered the probe's course so drastically?

At any rate, the Voyager Cluster was uncomfortably close to quarian space, or rather, the space they had once claimed during the height of their civilization. Now they just sent patrols in ever-decreasing frequency, searching for suitable resources – a practice rendered nearly obsolete with the leasing of reverse-chiral planets from the Alliance. _Still, planting a fifty megaton nuclear warhead in a neighbors backyard could be considered … rude._

Shepard came to a decision, and keyed the intercom. "Pressley, set up a course for the Hades Gamma Relay, and plot two courses from there."

A filtered voice came back through the speakers. _"Aye Commander. Where too after that?"_

"Not sure, but have one go to the Voyager cluster, and the other to Artemis Tau. We'll have to see what's available when we get there."

 _"Aye aye, sir."_ Pressley's voice came back almost immediately. _"We have clearance to the Serpent Nebula Primary, and I'm working on permission for the Exodus Primary. FTL estimates have us arriving in Hades Gamma approximately thirty hours from now."_

"Understood." Shepard clicked off the communicator. Beneath his feet, he could feel the powerful eezo/Hawking engine increase its basso rumble, responding to the new directives. It was … satisfying, to feel the power through his boots, power at his disposal should he choose to use it. It was similar to the old krogan saying: "It's only success when the ground shakes."

 _Success_. That required he stay on his toes, working with both the Alliance and the Council. _Timing, it always comes down to timing._ That meant FTL travel, and super-luminal speeds were generally faster with newer technology – or Relay travel – albeit the latter was technically an old means of such travel. Not to ignore the old methods of course, but newer generally gave an edge … for a little while. _If it worked._

Shepard opened a chart on his omni-tool, a miniature map of Relays throughout the sector. The _Normandy_ was one of the first ships to fully combine Hawking Singularity engines with the less-efficient, but more powerful Element Zero drive systems so popular in Council space.

 _Without Relays, we could get to the Voyager cluster maybe … fifteen percent faster than anything other than a quarian messenger boat._ Those things were essentially engines with a cockpit strapped on; no weaponry, minimal shielding, just pure thrust. _Can't hide our position from the Council though, radio silence over thirty hours would just be a giveaway. Could go silent after Hades Nexus, but that would be a bit of a giveaway too. Relay hopping takes us through turian space, but our return visa should cover transit back to Sol without my having to sign anything …._

A light on the panel blinked on again, flashing a call-waiting. The signal wasn't important enough to grant an identification, so he wouldn't bother answering it. Shepard opened another screen, ignoring the light, "Joker, after we hit the Hades Nexus, what would be our ETA from the Artemis Tau cluster?"

 _"Ah … maybe ten hours, Commander. Depends on what system you want to hit first. Any preference?"_ Joker's lighthearted voice came back over the comm.

He thought for a moment. The Relay system was most likely not where the Dr. T'Soni was located; too many ships came in and out to miss seeing an official dig site. On the other hand, missing a single archaeologist would be easily done, if an active, knowledgeable search were not being performed.

Shepard called up a map, checking the relevant systems. _Athens, Knossos, Macedon and Sparta … someone waxed poetic here. Relay is in Macedon, so we can hit that first, but Sparta or Athens next? I could go to Knossos, but that's the furthest system from the Relay. Make it the second leg._

"Let's do this clockwise, Joker." Shepard said aloud. "Do a quick scan in the Macedon system while we're there, but head for Athens as soon as possible. Knossos will be after that, then Sparta if we haven't found the good doctor by then."

 _"Aye aye, sir. Um, there's a call waiting for you. Do you – ?"_

"Ignore it." Shepard said firmly. "Solicitors. They never could take 'no' for an answer."

A chuckle came back over the camera. _"Aye Commander."_

* * *

 _[Agebinium, Amazon System, Voyager Cluster]_

 _[2115, Wednesday]_

Re-entry in a Mako exhilarated Shepard every time. Piloting insertion through the atmosphere was within his skill set, but not one polished regularly. Fortunately, Alenko was more than capable of the task, even to the point of guiding their descent on an unknown planet. Well, relatively unknown; Agebinium had been charted as part of the Amazon system. _Just not thoroughly examined._

Shepard listened, music pounding through his headset while exhilarating in the sensation of free-fall. It was a guilty pleasure, the thrill of a sub-orbital descent, accompanied by the pounding rhythms of a good group. Many soldiers had a similar practice, psyching themselves for a combat operation with heavy metal, or possible salarian techno-throb. Turian _confringes_ music had made a recent inroad in human markets, but salarian styles had been first and most prevalent.

 _Give me the old classics._ Shepard unconsciously nodded to the beat, a piece unleashing the might of a full orchestra on his eardrums. Human music held a special place in the hearts of most Alliance personnel; he was no exception.

Shifting bodies clued him into the changing status of his transport. Below, jets flare shone blue against the vapor trains they were making, slowing their fall to below terminal velocity – in more ways than one. The Mako was one of the most durable vehicles in the Alliance military, but free fall from several kilometers out was still too much for its passengers. The tank might survive, but its payload would impact with all the grace of a lead balloon.

"And, we have contact," Alenko commented. It was almost necessary, given the smoothness of his landing.

"We are alive?" Tali's voice sounded astonished, echoing from the back of the tank. It also sounded hoarse, as if she'd been screaming.

Shepard had been wondering what that quiet wailing noise had been; even with the mike turned off, the helmet wasn't completely soundproof.

"On the ground and ready to roll. What's our course, Commander?" Alenko glanced back, peering through his visor.

Shepard had to wonder at the new respect in his Lieutenant's voice. Had something changed in the past twenty-four hours? He hid a wince; other than becoming a Spectre, starting a hunt on one of the galaxy's most powerful warriors, and taking over another man's ship?

"Take us northwest, the signal seems to be coming from that direction." He tabled the question; better for another time.

The reddish-hued ground blurred past the view screens. Only the driver had an actual window, the rest had to make do with limited static-motion cameras. The sole exception was the gunner's chair, but that position was currently filled with a rather possessive turian. It was, after all, the only seat allowing the tall being enough headroom to sit upright.

"I'm picking up something on the low band," Tali spoke up, "very low-power, can't tell the direction yet."

Shepard glanced at the quarian. She'd immediately called navigator, once she'd heard of the programming required. It was a natural fit, he had to admit; she was certainly intelligent enough to master the Mako's systems within hours. _Impressive, really._

"Leave it for now. If it gets any louder, let me know." Shepard shifted focus to the forward screen. "Alenko, any sign of an impact crater?"

"Nossir," the vehicle trundled through another turn. "The ground's pretty beat up though, might have been in a meteor shower?"

He let the man drive, leaning back in thought. "Possible." _Unlikely, but possible._

Several minutes later, the remains of an old Grizzley came into view. It was an ancient model, compared to the Mako, possibly even a predecessor to that venerable transport.

"Looks like something hit it hard," Williams's metallic voice commented. Her seat was, by necessity, the far back row. The Power Armor she carried was as wide as two men and nine feet tall, weighing in at over a quarter ton when fully armed. The Mako had to be special-ordered in order to fit; most Power Armor users went into battle on shuttles or on foot.

Shepard nodded agreement without saying anything.

"Commander? Sensors are picking up a metal deposit, looks like something pretty light. Um," her voice trailed downward, "What does 'ess-em' mean?"

"Samarium." Shepard made a note on his omni-tool. "Excellent discovery, the NEF (2) pays a bounty for those." He tapped another sequence, "When we get back to the _Normandy_ , I'll forward the data. You should get the fee inside of a month, depending on when they get a team out there."

A squeaking noise made him look up. The quarian's reflective eyes were fixed on him, like a hunting cat's gaze. She squeaked again, but this time he could make out words. "Me? You're giving it to me?"

Shepard's eyebrows furrowed. "You discovered it, you get the finder fee. So far as I'm concerned, you're a freelancer on this squad. Anything you find is yours. Within reason, of course."

"But … but …." She gestured at the instrumentation, "The equipment, isn't this yours?"

"Yeah," Shepard slowly pulled on his helmet. He hated the thing, it felt cramped no matter what he did to fix it. It ruined his peripheral vision, especially with the eyepatch. "But I didn't think about mineral discoveries when we negotiated the contract. Ergo, since I did not include it, you get it."

"I can't take all of it, that's not fair, I mean – "

Shepard glanced up towards Williams while the quarian protested. The marine had mentioned a sister at one point to another crewman, maybe she would know how to deal with the situation?

The oversized helmet turned his way for a moment, then back at the quarian. "Tali, how about you keep this one, and then the Commander can get you a change to the contract, if you feel so strongly about it?"

The purple mask tilted back upwards, hands slowing their constant wringing. "That … that would work."

Shepard breathed a sigh of relief. It always bothered him when generosity was rebuffed. It was understandable; no one wanted to be a charity case, but trying to help out only worked when someone was willing to be helped.

"Um, Commander?" a voice called from the pilot seat.

He shifted his attention back forwards, to where Alenko was looking back. The young lieutenant appeared worried. "Sir, this is where the signal strength is the greatest but – ah – we're right outside a mine."

That's not right. Shepard moved forward to glance at the readouts. The oscillating lines confirmed it. "Underground. Here?" He swung around, looking to the side, "Tali, how are those readings? Any stronger?"

"No Cap — Commander." Tali seemed a bit flustered. "They've almost disappeared completely."

Shepard leaned back, thinking. _Missing nuke: bad. Almost certainly down a mineshaft: Very Bad. Blips circling: Very Bad Squared._ He snuck a look at Tali and Garrus, gauging their reactions. Both appeared to be calm, but his tension was getting obvious now. He came to a decision.

"Vakarian, Miss Zorah, I am invoking the Confidential aspect of your contracts." They stirred exchanging glances before looking back at him. "Short version: During the First Contact War, the Alliance created a number of Doomsday weapons, aimed at various Council targets. Self-guided nuclear missiles, programmed with Relay points. Apparently they were better than we thought, because one of them managed to make its way down into that mine."

"N … nuclear?" Tali stammered, "That's … illegal Commander. Almost barbar—ah …" She stopped, giving him a fearful look. At least, her hunched shoulders seemed to indicate fear.

"Barbaric?" Shepard finished. "So's war. The only difference between an orbital strike and a nuclear strike is how much radiation comes up afterwards. Don't forget, the Alliance is not now, or then, restricted by Council Law." He focused on the ceiling, as if speaking to no one, "Just as if the Council declared war, they would be technically allowed to do anything as well, since Alliance Space is outside Council jurisdiction."

The two remained silent.

"Chief Williams, Tali, I want you two with me. Garrus, Alenko, stay with the Mako and keep a lookout. I don't like vanishing radio signals." Shepard undid his restraints, sealing the helmet with a hissing pop.

* * *

[ _Agebinium_ ]

[ _2205, Wednesday]_

The back hatch of the Mako closed as Ashley stepped free, the sound muffled in the rarified atmosphere. At the same time, the turret on the tank's dorsal side whirred away from the hillside, while the three soldiers moved on. Somehow, the vehicle gave the impression of settling down, resting, but alert.

Shepard tapped the mine's sealed entrance, shifting uneasily as the panel slid open without hesitation. If it had been rusted partially shut, or even clogged with the dust so prevalent on this planet, he would have felt better. It would have meant the place had been abandoned for some time – not a recent intrusion.

The low outdoor noises died to nothing as the circular panel slid shut once more. The minute it closed, the airlock cycled more air into the room, filling it with … breathable atmosphere. Tali moved to check the equipment.

"Still functioning, but old. Looks like some parts were replaced within the past two years, but only the compressor and a backup control board." Her fingers flew over the interface. "It's a Ford system, probably about twenty years old at most. Tough hardware."

"Keep helmets on." Shepard thought about the statement, then shook his head. Of the three, only he could actually remove his headgear; Williams was locked into her _Menelaus_ armor, and quarians like Tali couldn't remove their environmental suits anyway. "Sorry. Habit."

"No problem Skipper." Ashley's voice sounded amused, even through the filter. "Good to know you care."

Nothing could really be said in response, so he just snorted; a usefully noncommittal expression. "Williams, you take rearguard. I'll take point. Tali, constant scans, and I want a comm check every two minutes."

"Right, Commander." Tali's vocoder blinked soundlessly, evidence she was taking her new orders to heart.

Shepard squared his shoulders, looking down the pipe-like tunnel. Solid rock lined the walls, broken only by metal composite steps on the floor, and wires trailing in the upper corners. Lights, cheap glow panels, flickered periodically down its length, giving the impression of a descent into infinity.

"Williams," Shepard drew his side arm; much easier to use in close quarters, "If we get trouble, take point."

"Aye aye," her voice was sober now, little hint of the teasing tone it had contained earlier.

Shepard faced forward once more, and frowned. The eye patch was to have come off ten minutes earlier, had the insertion taken slightly more time than it had. A mistake on his part; hopefully it wouldn't get anyone killed.

The tunnel ended in another door; understandable considering the lack of breathable atmosphere outside the mine. The more barriers there were, the safer everyone was. _Less comfortable, but safer._

Shepard's eyes flicked around the doorframe; there were no obvious trap markings … but someone with the resources to steal and bury a nuclear warhead would not make simple mistakes.

"Williams," he stepped to one side, shifting to a single-hand grip on his pistol, "Take point on this; Tali, cover her."

The heavy armor plodded forwards, rotary carbines hanging beneath each arm spinning up to firing velocity. The weapon's wait-time was by necessity, of a short duration, designed for high damage output after the Ruins had been discovered. The model had succeeded beyond its designers wildest dreams, becoming a staple for both hand-carried marines and vehicle mounts alike.

When they reached their peak rotation, Shepard slapped the panel, popping the doors open. Ashley stomped forwards, shields at full power, the armor's own magnetic internal shielding adding its considerable heft to the mix. Her movement was somewhat slower than that of an unencumbered soldier, but no single soldier was capable of carrying twin cannon like her armor could.

Shepard spun in, whipping around the door and away from Ashley's flank; standard breaching tactic. If one were to attack the power armor, getting away from the target would extend longevity for anyone with lesser protection.

"Well … that was … interesting." Tali's voice emanated from behind the two humans, sounding vaguely amused. From her perspective, it had probably looked a little stupid, a fully-armored woman and marine dancing around each other through a doorway.

Not saying anything, Shepard checked his visor, scanning for thermal signatures. Movement on the floor caught his attention, water flooding over the surface. It ran past his feet, trickling from a broken pipe he'd failed to notice further back, and gurgling onwards towards the far side.

 _Good security feature,_ he had to admit. Stealth in inch-deep water was nearly impossible, akin in difficulty to tap-dancing in wading boots. Not that he'd ever tried that.

The cavern looked partially natural; stalactites hung from the ceiling near the sides, while truncated versions showed stubby forms near the center. The ground was machine smooth, abandoned crates lying in haphazard piles. Several lanterns, keyed to the secondary door had activated, casting strong, if unsteady light across the chamber. One, lying on the ground, drew his attention by the position it illuminated.

"Over there," Shepard gestured at two more circular doorways. One had a red indicator lit, but the lower passage was greenlit. _A simple choice, but obvious – too much so?_

"Commander, are we going down even further?" Williams asked.

Shepard nodded at his omni-tool. "The signal is coming from that direction, so I would have to say yes."

"Drat." The voice was distinctly unhappy.

He keyed the doorway, "You don't like close spaces? I'm surprised, considering."

"It's not the space really," Ashley demurred, "It's more the thought of all that … rock over my head. And no way out."

The door hissed open, grating its edges across the sides. Shepard cast a glance back at the other two and resumed point. "Radio check?"

Tali responded immediately. "Lieutenant Alenko and Garrus don't see anything. Their signal is getting choppy, but strong."

 _Definitely a trap._ Shepard tightened his grip, _Go back, call for reinforcements?_ He slowed, thinking. _No, end result they send a squad to do exactly what I'm doing now, but with less training. Whoever set this trap would be gone by then._

That triggered another thought. _Why would the trap-maker lay the trap here and now? Or bother to watch? Showmanship?_

Shepard opened the final door, letting it grind open before ducking to once side as Williams's power armor charged forwards. As had been done earlier, he ducked inside behind her, whirling to cover the right flank.

Once more, there was nothing. Crates stacked in a more orderly fashion lined a wall, while a silvery cylinder roughly the size of a skycar rested on its belly nearby.

 _Cylinder_.

Shepard held up one hand, stopping his companions. "There."

"Is that it?" Williams trained one arm at the tube, scanning its contours with her systems.

 _The helmet is too much. Four airlock doors, enough oxygen to support a mining crew, I should be safe long enough to take off the blasted patch._ Shepard hit the release catches, lifting the helmet's sides away from his head. _Ahhh … much better._

Just as he reached for the covering over one eye, he heard something whine into action. At the same time, the door panel behind them clicked, not a mild reset noise, but the deep shuddering noise of heavy-gauge metal sliding into place.

 _"Shepard, at last."_

The voice was smooth, but unrefined, like someone whom had once been educated, but relinquished it for a rough lifestyle.

Shepard raised an eyebrow. A hologram, of grainy quality but good enough to transmit the image had appeared over the pipe. "Do I know you?"

The image chuckled before enlarging itself. A man, human and deeply tanned became evident in the digital morass. _"You don't remember me?"_ Laughter transmitted over the link for a moment before he regained control. _"It doesn't matter, I remember you. I remember everyone I've fought. My name is Elanos Haliat, I doubt you'll know it."_

"Elanos Haliat?" Shepard stroked his chin thoughtfully, "That takes me back. Terminus gang leader, one of the first humans to undergo the batarian _gjykimi i gjakut_ , the 'Trial of Blood.' As I recall, you were a major player in the slaver raids in the Terminus Systems, until roughly seven years ago."

 _"You are intelligent, Commander."_ The figure shifted, arrogantly tilting his head to one side, _"Tell me, do you know how someone rises to power in the Terminus Systems?"_

"Doesn't matter," Shepard echoed his words back, "All I need to know is who to kill, and where he is. Sometimes the latter isn't necessary … how has it been, with a bounty on your head?"

Haliat froze, _"Life has been good. Hunters come after me, and I kill them. They're poor for the most part, but sometimes …"_ he rotated one arm, exposing an omni-tool, its brand prominently displayed. _"I had planned to obtain a Logic Arrest at some point, but this just walked up to me you could say."_

"Congratulations," Shepard said drily. "Now, what did you want?"

 _"Mm? Oh, nothing much. Revenge, and your life, that's all."_

Movement distracted Shepard a moment, Williams stretching her armored shoulders. Her face was obscured, not that he could have read it, but the posture indicated definite aggressive behavior. Tali, near her side, appeared to be in complete agreement, shotgun in one hand, omni-tool poised for action in the other.

 _"Perhaps you do not understand. In the Terminus systems, life is very similar to how the old Vikings lived. He who kills the most men, seizes the most plunder, pillages the most colonies."_ The figure drew a deep breath, as if fighting down emotion. _"Seven years ago, I was the strongest. I used my influence to assemble a fleet to drive your kind out of the Verge."_

"Elysium." Shepard growled, the hand-grip of his sidearm felt solid, reassuring in his grasp.

Haliat spread his arms, _"I was the instigator, the one who promised glory and riches for sacking the largest human colony in the cluster! I was the one blamed when it failed. Failed! Failed because of your damnable holding action!"_

Shepard's comm crackled, _"Commander, Lieutenant Alenko isn't responding. It's been four minutes, and I can't raise him."_ He nodded slowly, acknowledging Tali's message.

The hologram laughed, _"It took me three years before I managed to earn back respect, another two before I learned how high you had risen because of that feat. Then I made friends with powerful people, groups that recognized my value."_ His tone lowered, head leaning into the camera range. _"I was never sure this would have caught you; after all, there are many people the Alliance could have sent in response to this, but I waited. I knew the opportunity would come."_

"You're very well informed for a pirate." Shepard examined the nuclear device sitting on the ground, there was only one way this would end. Haliat had burned many bridges to get him there.

 _"I am. Too well informed to fall for your delay tactic ... your reflexes must be slowing down, given that eyepatch."_ Haliat raised a hand, exhibiting a remote device. _"Any last words?"_

Shepard bared his teeth, "I'll let you know on St. Glingin's Day."

 _"Ha. Empty words from a dead man."_ The clicking noise from the device was audible over the link, _"Good-bye, Shepard."_

"Commander?" Tali's voice quavered slightly. Shepard didn't need her warning to see the timers, projecting swiftly reducing numbers over the nuclear device.

"Tali, take the opposite end, use a bifurcating algorithm." He followed suit moving to the tube. _Why is it always nuclear? Why can't I be attacked with silly string, or a pie?_ The first timer deactivated under his fingers, leaving him free to move on to the second. _The hardware here is pretty old though … First Contact war, if he didn't replace anything._ The second timer shut down, leaving him free to join Tali. She'd hacked directly into the computer, interfacing with the command codes; an elegant solution, but not quite what he'd had in mind. _Right, thirty seconds left – too easy. Sergeant Kopfbrecher would have my head if I messed up something this simple. Just avoid the blue wire, cut the dummy trigger, and …._

"Got it." Tali's filtered voice squeaked just before he clipped the wire. "Downloading as much as I can, too. It's a pretty small system."

Shepard stood back, shaking out his wrists. "Good thing they don't change those too often," he commented to no one. A muffled explosion interrupted him.

"That sounds like trouble," Ashley muttered. She sounded mulish; not that he blamed her. Standing idly by, twiddling oversized thumbs, while a bomb threatened to end your existence tended to do that. "Orders?"

Shepard moved to the door. The red light over the locking mechanism had lost its cherry glow, a worrisome sight. "Tali?"

The quarian hurried to his side, omni-tool glowing neon orange. The interface failed to match coloration, or show any light at all, worrisome. The most basic rule of mining operations stipulated that all doorways were to have light sources; he'd looked it up during a mission two years earlier. No light meant either no power – a lie since the chamber they were in was still illuminated – or the lock had been deliberately sabotaged.

She confirmed the issue seconds later. "I'm sorry Commander; it looks as like the lock is broken."

"Try blown apart," Ashley offered. "That sounded like a doorknocker, marine style."

"Poor choice." Shepard checked his pouches; he had a few surprises of his own; every soldier did. Just what that surprise consisted of depended on the temperament and training. Ammunition blocks were the usual extra accessory, alongside grenades and flares. Some soldiers chose to carry an excess number of more powerful explosives, while Infiltrator specialists stashed sensor darts, excellent tools for long-range observation.

Ashley, he noticed, was doing the same, the blocky armor making her motions cumbersome. "You have something Chief?"

Her faceplate shook negatively. "Sorry sir, grenades for the quad-launcher, but nothing for a door like that."

"I have a fusion cutter, but it's not strong enough for that door." Tali spoke up before he could ask. "Maybe I can weaken it for Chief Williams?"

Shepard grunted, examining the door once more. It was a few grades shy of cruiser armor, not the strongest material possible, but certainly not weak. The room itself was medium-sized, large enough to safely detonate grenades if directed … but if one bounced? Even contact explosives failed at times. Still, it was a risk worth taking; better than exposing his pseudo-biotics. "Do it."

Tali clicked her fingers in what would have been a finger snap on a human. A thin beam of light flew into place between her main two fingers, holding its position steady. Unlike its more powerful cousin the fusion torch, a cutter required only the power source found in the average armor set. Quarian enviro-suits typically carried more power than normal, which might make all the difference. The power, fed over the aerogel substrate, could weaken the door. Theoretically.

Minutes dragged past. The hissing crackle changed tenor as the alloy-bonded ceramic degraded. Occasional pieces would separate, shattering on the floor.

The hissing crack degenerated into a whistling noise, accompanied by a cry of surprise. "Bosh'tet!"

Shepard was on his feet in a moment. "What happened?"

"The cutter broke," Tali muttered something he couldn't understand, "I knew I should have gotten the backup set! I knew it!" Her hand made wringing motions, shaking a broken, still glowing shard. A longer piece, glow fading, sizzled on the ground in a puddle.

"Let's see what we have." Shepard kept his tone calm, reassuring. Quarians were a vocal species, taking their cues from both physical touch and aural contact. Of course, some called it an incorrect theory, but six months serving with a quarian team had convinced him otherwise.

"Looks like you've done all you can here," he traced the edges with his gauntlet. Water on his glove, residue from the floor, sublimated into steam at the touch. He had to admit, she'd done a good job. The airlock opened into the walls of the tunnel, folding upon itself like a flat accordion. Tali's approach had weakened the material next to the doorframe, starting with the bottom portion. When the grenades hit, they would be more easily directed against the metal, excess energy deflected from the firm ground.

"You're up Chief." Shepard stood back, making note of the time. Less than an hour earlier, they had been exiting the Mako far above.

Williams sank the armor into lockdown mode, one leg extending backwards to brace while the other folded out a tripod-like stabilizer. Both arms rose, like a benediction. "Sir, just to make sure, you want me to fire on the door with anti-vehicle rounds, while we're underground."

Shrugging, he flicked the eyepatch onto the ground before re-donning his helmet. "Not the safest idea I've had, but we can't wait for Alenko to come after us."

"Right. Clear!"

Shepard placed himself in a kneeling crouch behind Williams, trusting her heavier armor to take the shrapnel if any came back their way. Tali ducked behind him, falling flat on the ground, covering her head with both arms. He took one last look, and lowered his helmet to one knee. "Fire in the hole!"

Explosions boomed, detonating in rapid succession. The _Menelaus_ power armor was known for being both anti-infantry, and partial anti-vehicle. Its main weaponry could mow down entire platoons – should they be so foolish as to stand in easily targeted rows. Its secondary weapon however was a Mercana D-5 grenade launcher, two barrels mounted over each arm. Like its distant gunpowder-fueled ancestor, the Mercana delivered high-velocity payloads directly to its target.

The percussive blasts stopped. Shepard peeked out, staying careful to remain on one side. Accidents happened, and he'd already absorbed enough grenades for the week. "How many was that?"

"One magazine, sixteen rounds."

That sounded right. The door bulged outwards, separating from the frame itself completely in places. Enough still remained to hold the main pieces in place, but not nearly enough to stop another fusillade.

Metallic noises, of a successful reload brought him out of his reverie. "How many do you have Chief?"

"Grenades?" The metal-covered head twisted towards him. "Started out with sixty in the chamber, I have another four dozen in my ammo pouch."

He didn't have to think hard. "Eight full loads left then. Hold your fire for now; we might be able to do it without risking the ceiling."

Williams straightened, "Gotcha."

Before he could begin unlimbering the … quieter … aspects of his Nightstalker armor, her own armor rumbled into higher gear.

"Chief?"

The heavily armored marine backed up a step, flexing her legs, then lowered one shoulder and charged.

Shepard winced as her quarter-ton frame smashed into the doorway. The flat metal panels crushed on impact, splintering under the weight. A metal shard struck his helmet, snapping his neck sideways as if slapped. He grunted softly, absorbing the impact.

"Commander!" A small form slammed into his back, toppling his balance.

 _Yep. Just like Katrina_. Shepard carefully got to his feet, avoiding the quarian's attempts to do the same. _Enthusiastic, but a little clumsy._

The crashing cacophony of metal on wet rock told him the doorway was open once more. Wiliams's bulky armor groaned as she used its servos to shove on the other half of the door; it acceded to her forceful motion easily now that the lock was gone.

"Thank you, Williams. Much easier than my trying to kick it open."

The nine-foot tall figure tossed a jaunty salute his way. "Any time Commander."

The passage back up was littered with bits of gravel, loose stone that the closed mine never cleared out. Grenades, apparently, were insufficient to disturb the underlying bedrock.

Shepard led the group back up the tunnel, watching every corner. "Keep trying, Tali. Let me know the second you raise Alenko or the _Normandy_. Chief Williams, weapons free. Take down anything that moves."

The massive figure growled an inarticulate response, underslung rotary carbines spinning up experientially before slowing down once more. "Hard contact mode engaged," the faceplate glowed red in two points, with a suggestion of a scowling visage. "Ready when you are,Commander _."_

"That's spooky." Tali commented from behind the armored woman.

 _"_ Good _."_ Ashley swung a spotting lamp towards the main entrance, at the far side of the cavern. "We got a problem, Commander."

"I see it." Shepard delivered his own scowl at the pile of rock obstructing the exit. The effect was somewhat decreased by the helmet, all the better for covering his lapse. Commanders were supposed to be unemotional, especially when they didn't anticipate being in the same squad for long.

More reloading sounds emanated from William's armor. "Want me to try clearing a path Commander?"

"No." Shepard turned sideways, hadn't there been another doorway? "Too much structural damage already. Much more and we'll deep six ourselves." There it was, next to the chamber they'd just exited. "Tali, see if you can pop that hatch over there."

The quarian's fingers were already flying across her omni-tool's interface. It always amazed him, how so few digits could accomplish the same things as a 5-fingered hand.

The door hissed open, gravel falling off its upper edges. Tali sidestepped, performing a slight half-kick before jumping back as if she hadn't moved. An interrupted victory dance, perhaps? Her faceplate angled his way, "It's open, Commander."

He kept a smirk from his face. "Good work. Watch my back."

"Aye aye."

Shepard swapped weapons, letting the Brawler snap against its clamps in favor of the custom-design sniper rifle. A few hours in the _Normandy's_ practice range had proven its effectiveness; something along the lines of the legendary HMWSR. They were still different – his Excalibur was slower firing for example, but it was an excellent answer to Council weapons development program.

"Exit ahead ten meters." William's harshly synthesized voice boomed. Shepard kept himself from jumping by clenching his grip extra tightly; hopefully, no one would notice.

The door's access indicator was green, a good sign. No one had anticipated their exit … or had used the exit so quickly as to neglect securing the second airlock.

Shepard slapped the icon using the edge of his hand to make contact. The door froze a quarter of the way open; but the machine-enhanced limbs of his Nightstalker armor made it easy work. The metal smashed into the frame under his grip like cheap plastic, widening the opening to the outside.

"Anything?" Shepard gave the horizon a quick scan; no dust trails, no advancing batarian hordes. Unlikely, if Haliat had told his underlings of the plan.

"I've reached the _Normandy_!" Tali's excited voice nearly shrieked in his earpiece.

Joker's worried tone followed almost immediately. _"Commander? You there?"_

Shepard used the tongue switch, activating the VOX protocol, keeping both hands on the rifle. "I'm here Joker. Talk to me."

 _"A couple Grizzlies came out of nowhere; they must have had sensor baffle or something."_ The pilot paused, _"Kaiden and Garrus stuck around as long as they could, but they had to run. They're about ten klicks south of you right now, taken out two tanks so far."_

"Good." Shepard picked up movement from far down the hillside. The mine exit they'd taken presented a beautiful scene, two Grizzly class Light Armor Transport under a tarpaulin, surrounded by tiny figures.

"Well, paint me pink and call me a hanar," Shepard almost whispered the words. "An honest to God turkey shoot."

"Amen." William's voice returned, almost reverent.

"Turkey – what?" Tali sounded confused.

Shepard couldn't help chuckling. Once. He tried disguising it as a cough, studiously ignoring the human member of his squad. "Look it up on the _Normandy_. Until then, keep a weather eye out. Joker, can you hear me?"

 _"I'm with you every step of the way Commander. Unless something goes boom, then I'm kinda way back here, but you get what I mean."_

The younger man knew how to lighten the mood; it was certainly a talent. "Can you see my position?"

 _"Commander, this baby could see the scratches on the paint job your helmet got last week if I asked it – um, which is absolutely no comment on that nasty-looking scrape on your right shoe. What you need?_ "

Shepard cast his eyes on the steep hillside, looking for a proper resting place. He spotted it a moment later, a wide shelf-like slab of rock. "Can you see the two tanks hiding in that wide-open flat thing to the sunward side?"

The pilot's voice sounded embarrassed _. "Ah, not exactly. Sensors can pick up something, but it's pretty vague."_

Shepard crouched behind the flat rock, laying the _Excalibur's_ barrel across its length. He fired a sensor dart at the tanks under the tarpaulin, watching the mini-circle arc across his map display. "How about now? Set in sensors to tac-channel seven."

 _"Oooh what have we here?"_ The pilot made appreciative sounds under his breath.

"Target the big mass with a one Type Three kinetic round. Triple check the numbers; rangefinder is telling me I'm less than a kilometer from the blast zone. You kill me and I swear I'll haunt you for the rest of your life." Shepard let a smirk curl upwards behind the anonymity of his helmet. Threats in jest were entertaining, particularly when most took them seriously.

 _"Ah … yessir. Targeting solution coming up now. Pressley is verifying, running it through the computer … checks out Commander. Say when."_

Shepard cuddled the rifle stock to his shoulder, taking aim. "Stand by _Normandy_. Williams, target right. Drive 'em closer to the tanks. Tali, watch our backs and stay in cover."

The _Menelaus_ rotary carbines spun faster, attaining combat velocity in seconds. Half a second after that, rounds began exiting their muzzle, making the earth erupt in hundreds of miniature explosions.

For himself, Shepard focused where Williams was firing, and landed a snap-reflex shot in an armored torso. The carbine fire began hitting personal shields, eating away at defensive countermeasures like a sandstorm. One man stood still in the oncoming fire, sighting a long rifle back along the path of destruction.

Shepard took him down with a single shot through the visor.

"Grenade out!" Williams's secondary weapon coughed an explosive device, hurling it into a crate sheltering three armored figures.

Leaving them to the Chief's tender mercies, Shepard scanned left. The majority of people were fleeing towards the heavily armored vehicles, but two were fleeing even further out of range; one had the tell-tale blur of biotic use while the other was simply running. He targeted the non-biotic, and squeezed the trigger. The gun boomed, the sound audible in the thin air, taking down the man easily.

He gave the rifle a fond pat. Its range was even better than he'd hoped; bullet-drop minimal even at five hundred meters. "Alright Joker, lay the egg."

The _Normandy_ came into view, an albatross-like shadow in the butterscotch-colored sky. Something bright flashed, and then the ground heaved under Shepard's feet. Downhill, a column of earth shot upwards, fountaining away from the center. Static from the miniscule particles made his earpiece pop, a disorienting experience.

"Sir, we got a runner." William's synthesized voice called his attention.

Shepard glanced at the still fleeing individual. His visor zoomed in, picking out characteristics. One was surprisingly specific. "It's an asari."

"Really?" Williams raised one arm, "Want me to turn her into an antique sieve?"

 _Snarky humor; first Joker, now Williams._ Shepard hid another smirk inside his helmet; this was going to be a good squad. "No, let's try to take this one alive. Asari love to talk."

"Understood Commander." The helmet canted, eyeing the distance, "Any suggestions on how we're going to catch her?"

"You won't; I will." Shepard snapped the rifle's assembly into compact mode. "You and Tali do cleanup here; see if anything survived. I'll follow our blue friend. Can't shoot the leg, at least if I want her to stay pressurized, so we'll do this the ol' fashioned way."

He took off in a ground-eating lope. The asari might have had a head start, but he wasn't using energy-sapping biotics. "Shepard to _Normandy_ , send Delta squad to the blast site. Assist Chief Williams and Specialist Tali'Zorah with clean-up."

Joker's voice came in, accompanied with the faint tapping sound of interacting magnetic fields. _"Roger that."_ The voice vanished, only to reappear roughly fifty feet later, _"Alenko is coming your way Commander. Didn't think you wanted to haul her butt all the way to the landing zone by yourself."_

"Very thoughtful of you." Shepard clicked to the light infrared sensor on his visor once again, checking that he wasn't falling too far behind ... and it was good timing. Annoyed at what he saw, he ran faster.

"She's fast." Shepard lengthened his stride, using Agebinium's lighter gravity to his advantage, "But not fast enough."

Ahead, he could see the armored figure again, a faint glow against the russet terrain. Her form twisted, then blurred into a smaller dot further ahead.

 _Blast_. _Charging ahead, literally._ Shepard resisted the temptation to increase his pace. Biotic techniques could gain a significant advantage in an urban setting, it was significantly less useful on the open field. Extremely practiced users could transition from a running start to a running stop, but most required a moment to focus.

The range display paused for a second, and then scrolled upwards again, adding nearly thirty meters to the distance.

He growled, picking up the pace. This wasn't going as he'd hoped.

Rust-colored ground rolled past, speeding in only the way a low-gravity world could allow. Shepard's breath came easily, minimally increased from the activity. That was one significant advantage he had over almost every race; stamina. Turians and asari didn't sweat, nor have quite as efficient an oxygen exchange process. Krogan on the other hand made up for their own minor differences with sheer quantity; the only sentient beings in the universe able to keep up with a krogan was a human … unless vorcha were involved. Those – repugnant – beings lacked resilience, but had enough regenerative capabilities to recover from almost anything.

Another blue flash from ahead made him groan internally. She had flashed again, choosing to skip over more difficult terrain, making it harder for him to follow.

 _Two can play at that game._ Shepard drew his sidearm without breaking stride, fitting a reconnaissance dart. The device hardly needed aiming, perfect for moving shots.

The dart itself hit an outcropping well beyond both of them. It triggered to a fully active state, showing both of their movements on his HUD.

The red dot shifted slightly, then blurred once more before blurring again in quick succession. Shepard sensed a feral grin growing, and let it stay. She had probably lost her footing and resorted to biotics to regain her position. Stumbling indicated tiring.

 _"Commander, we're half a klick south. Joker told us what's going on, do you have visual?"_

Shepard felt the smirk turn bloodthirsty. "Suspect is headed east by northeast, going through that mesa region. Can you give me a lift?

 _"Roger that."_ The bouncing Mako roared into sight, the weak sunlight gleaming off its still clean edges. For a vehicle that had destroyed two tanks, it seemed in remarkably good repair.

"Don't stop, just slow down enough for me to jump on." Shepard adjusted his stance, lowering his legs slightly while straightening his back. Alenko followed his directions, swerving slightly to avoid a cairn, nose dipping slightly as the tank decelerated.

Taking full advantage of the lower gravity, Shepard hopped onto the now-slowly moving vehicle. Like most military transports, it had low-rising handrails on the back end, giving him a grip while activating the magnetic clamps in his boots. The same element zero hardware that helped the Mako attain its versatility also created a mild high-density field on the back, preventing slipping for anyone hitching a ride.

"I'm on. Go!" Shepard clung to the rail as the tank's engine revved. The Mako lurched, pushing forward over the terrain.

Turning his attention to the HUD, Shepard kept his eye on the moving red dot. With his visor linked to the Mako's mainframe, he could expand the sensor distance to over twice the range a simple hardsuit computer could achieve. Consequently, the fleeing asari appeared closer than before, yet had gained distance while he'd changed transportation methods.

 _"Commander, I have her on the scanners."_ Joker's signal crackled, _"But we're about to go over the horizon. Want me to go geosynch?"_

"Do it." It would burn the majority of heat sinks available to keep the _Normandy_ in stealth, but this asari was beginning to become a major mystery. Most asari-pirates were either young Maidens, spending their early centuries experiencing as much life as possible, and acted as if they were in their twenties for nearly two hundred years. No Maiden – or at least, very few – could take charge of an entire pirate base.

Those that were entering their third century, however, would take a lieutenant position, utilizing their centuries of experience as leverage. Hundreds of gangs in the Terminus Systems had asari in fairly high positions; not at the apex, but close. Asari didn't start gangs, they joined them. Only the Eclipse Mercenaries were known to be fully asari combatants, with the frequent salarian, of course. Asari and salarians were as common as hydrogen and explosions.

Most pirate leaders had a personal guard; Haliat's crew, now dead under the _Normandy's_ guns, had been composed solely of fighters. That meant this asari would have likely been a high-ranking lieutenant. That, in turn, meant she would have had to have been either with his original group, or proven capable to be in his admittedly small, personal guard.

 _The facts add up to her being intelligent. She can't run forever, and can't hide indefinitely without atmosphere._ Some asari could put themselves so deeply in a trance that their lifesigns could be missed by a less-than-diligent sensors crew. That wasn't possible in this case, considering Agebinium's minimal atmosphere. _Where is she going?_

Shepard charted the path the asari had taken, outlining the landmarks they'd passed; she'd been traveling in a fairly straight line ever since he'd started following her. A blinked command and the data updated itself to the _Normandy's_ tactical map. "Pressley, extend this line. Focus sensors; see if there are any anomalies on the same path."

 _"Aye sir, checking now,"_ the older man's crisp voice answered immediately, soothingly calm. It remained quiet for several seconds, then returned. _"I have something two kilometers away. Marking it on your map."_

There was only one response to make. "Floor it Lieutenant."

The Mako jumped in response, bounding over the increasingly stony ground like a heavily-armed gazelle. Within fifty seconds, Shepard could see the asari once more, leaping a narrow gorge, still traveling in a nearly straight line. He could see her helmet turn in their direction, then blur into the distance.

Beneath him, the Mako's jets rumbled to life. The multi-ton vehicle shivered before enveloping itself in an eezo shield, reducing the effect of Agebinium's minimal gravity. The end result allowed it to completely bypass the cleft, instead hurtling over the edge of a cliff to the flat plains beyond.

The asari was on the ground already, sprinting as fast as an Olympian athlete, darting ahead in regular spurts of biotic energy.

Shepard hammered the Mako's roof. "Vakarian, you hear me?"

A flanged voice vibrated back in his earpiece. _"Loud and clear Commander. Need me to open the top hatch?"_

He shook his head despite the metal barrier between them. "Fire up the turret, give her a warning shot. Try to disrupt her without killing her."

 _"Disabling shot with a 135 mm, eh? On a tank, I'd say no problem, but on an asari?"_ The shrug was almost audible, _"No promises."_

"Do your best." Shepard clutched at the railing as another rock tipped the Mako on edge, "and tell Alenko to get between the asari and that outcropping about one-point-five klicks ahead."

 _"Roger that."_ The turret lifted itself from the Mako's roof, twisting in place like a waking serpent. A moment later, the vehicle shook as the main gun fired.

A crater appeared ten meters in front of the running asari, forcing her to take a running leap to stay on course.

The Mako sped up, reaching a higher velocity than what was possible on the rough hills behind. Shepard's eyes widened as he worked out the calculations; if they were right, the asari was running well over Olympian speeds, nearly seventy kilometers per hour. The Charge bursts had to be exponentially faster, at least triple running speed.

Slowly, the Mako passed the running asari, getting farther ahead each time she paused between Charges. Her rage was visible, even from the back of a speeding Mako. _She looks a lot like some of those batarian slavers, when I take down their operation. One of those Hegemony Supremacist variety; never says Uncle and all that. Good to know._

The outcropping became visible as they approached; a large hillock in the near distance. More telling was the reddish-hued sensor baffle hanging from the tallest boulders bulging over the center mass.

Shepard marked it on his HUD, highlighting the odd structure. " _Normandy_ , watch this point. Possible getaway ship." He switched channels, "Alenko, stop once we've reached this place. I'm taking down that asari."

 _"Yessir. Ah, you want some help?"_

He lowered one shoulder in a Gallic shrug. "I won't say no, but it'll probably be over by the time you get out." In some viewpoints, that would have been bragging. This wasn't; unless the asari was a Matriarch grade biotic user. Takedowns were something in which he excelled; she would be down within ten seconds. That was fact.

 _"We're here sir."_

Shepard jumped off, then turned around annoyed at himself. He'd landed on the side nearest the hillock, placing the Mako was between the asari and himself. Growling, he started walking towards the vehicle, pulling a miniaturized flash-bang out of habit. Its activator slid into the on position, ready for action.

A bright blue flash almost blinded him, startling him enough to drop the armed grenade. It went off at his feet, just as the asari ran into him at a dead run. He could hear a surprised shriek, her hands flashing blue, causing him to react instinctively.

One leg kicked up and around, planting itself firmly in her midsection with all the force an Alliance Marine N7 class soldier, in the prime of health, could muster. The armor's mechanical assistance sped his kick, helping it deliver at an even higher velocity, sending the asari flying backwards into the Mako's armored side.

Shepard stared as she smacked into the metal, arms flailing wildly, before slowing into a stunned droop. Her widened pupils were just visible through lightly tinted visor, just as she toppled face downwards.

A tiny dust cloud rose mockingly around her still form, echoing Shepard's confusion. _Did she just Charge through the Mako?_ There were no footprints around or under the tank, leaving only one possible answer: she had passed through the tank as if it hadn't been there.

He folded his arms, contemplating her still body. Asari were some of the most powerful biotic users in the galaxy; an entire race that begun their training before they left the cradle. Their melee combat techniques were the most advanced in the galaxy, a specialty assisted by a capability to spend centuries in training. Some dojos – to use the human term – kept their students a full seventy years before allowing them to attain the next levels.

 _This one … has to be one of those trained fighters._ Shepard thought. _What in the Nine Realms is she doing with a has-been raider like Haliat?_

A thump of the retracting door caught his attention. Lieutenant Alenko was standing at the ready, gun loosely held in one hand. His eyes darted at the prostrate body, back to Shepard, then down again. Behind him, Garrus made an appearance, long rifle active.

"Damn Shepard, you work fast!" Alenko shook his head in amazement.

Shepard raised both shoulders innocently. "Got lucky, she didn't know what hit her."

The turian's eyes were focused on him however, shrewdly analyzing the ground at his feet in a way only a trained detective could. Shepard could almost feel the sharp eyesight note the scorch marks on his boots, and the uninterrupted space of dusty ground between himself and the fallen asari. He offered the turian a tiny shrug, mimicking the turian hip twist of innocence. The analogue in humans was a demonstrated by splaying the hands, timed with raising the shoulders – all species had a version.

Shepard gestured, prompting Alenko to raise his weapon at the downed asari. Carefully, making certain the Lieutenant had a clear view; Shepard circled behind the asari, and cautiously poked her helmet. At no response, he gently moved her hands to her neck, flash-forging a pair of restraints from the unique database on his omni-tool.

"What are those, Commander?" Alenko kept his gun steady, but curiosity was in his voice.

"Something I learned back in CBT." Shepard looped the restraint around the other hand, bringing both of the asari's hands to the base of her head. "Biotics typically use their hands, either to throw or warp things. If you keep their hands controlled, they are their own first target."

An admiring whistle came in response. "Clever. You want us to check out that tarp back there?"

Shepard lifted with his knees, pulling the asari's form in a fireman's carry. "Get Delta squad to do it. I'll call in Charlie squad, they've had time to recover since yesterday."

He turned away from the Lieutenant, bringing his charge into the Mako. He'd have to radio ahead, tell the Normandy to prepare the interrogation suite. _All right, what can this young lady tell me?_

* * *

(1)International Audit Commission

(2) Naval Exploratory Flotilla

A/N: Hey all, good to be back! The base 16 suggestion (credit to Nightstride) is used for two reasons: First, there is an example in human history (traditional Chinese units of weight), and second, there is a reference to Base 6 as being unfamiliar (Liara, ME3). Ergo, quarians have a non-base 6 numbers system.

Also, the batarian words/names I am using come from either the Wiki, or Albanian lexicon translations. My apologies for mangling the language.

I have a couple research projects I'll be working on this summer, but I should be able to get a chapter or two churned out by the beginning of the next semester. Suggestions? Criticisms? Let me know in the comments below! Just as a note, I will probably be raising the rating next level ... Shepard is getting down to business.

Story suggestion for the chapter: You get a twofer today! I would like to recommend ProFartBurger and his two biggest stories: The First War (Story ID: 8949791) and The New Face of War (Story ID: 10056566). Enjoy!

Chuck


	10. Fools Rush In

_Determination is a good thing. It brings resolve to the weakened mind, andcourage to those unable to stand for themselves. It is a double-edged weapon, however,dangerous in the hands of those that will not see reason –andequally deadly when possessed by a wise man._

 _In my years, I have learned to watch those around me much more carefully than in my younger days. A skill I should have learned then, but never did until it was arguably too late. My observations have led me to make several conclusions._

 _Some people remind me of bears; powerful and afraid of nothing – but ultimately loners. They do not accept help, nor offer it; typically found in the more independent cultures. For example, colonists and farmers will help each other within their own communities, but are extraordinarily well known for resisting outside influences._

 _Other people are more similar to alligators; cold, ruthless and uncaring of everything but their own. They watch the world with indifference, waiting for the best opportunity with minimal risk._

 _Still others resemble herds or schools, constantly watching each other for indications, taking cues from the actions of others. A moral code taken from a herd is only as good as the average, which helps explain why nations deteriorate and fall – information that is as useless as it is insightful._

 _Shepard reminded me of a wolf; at times a loner, yet often working with others, a pack if you will. He was certainly an alpha, resisting challengers to his supremacy, and efficient in taking down threats. In that, he combined many of the best traits of the others; strength, fellowship and self-sufficiency. No matter how many opponents came against him, he never surrendered, never gave up. His actions inspired his followers to truly heroic heights – or should I say his companions inspired him?_

 _Whatever the cause, the entire group was more than up to the challenges facing them. They were practically a force of nature, sweeping away all obstacles in their path, obliterating what would not move._

 _It made me laugh, when I read a line by Virgil, that ancient Roman poet. He indeed said it best:_

 _"Wolves never care how many sheep there are."_

 _~Dr. Arnold Pavenmeyer_

 _Project Ragnarock_

* * *

[SR-1 Normandy, Deep Space]

[0913, Thursday]

A tall, angular figure making its way through the morning gym crowd caught Shepard's attention, reminding him of the … guest … in the _Normandy's_ brig. Shepard raised a hand, gaining the turian's attention. "Detective, can I speak with you in my cabin?"

The turian stiffened. That was expected; the Hierarchy ships enjoyed a more relaxed off-duty atmosphere. Oversight for personal activities had to be irritating for the alien senses.

 _Tough._ Shepard didn't spare the emotion. _Human ship, human protocol._

They waited in silence as the elevator brought them up to the CIC level, a relatively short duration given the prototype vessel's abbreviated structure. For unknown reasons, the Captain's cabin resided there while the Executive Officer's quarters took up space a floor down; near the crew pods ... likely the results of the _Normandy's_ prototypical edge. No one seemed to notice their approach, except the solitary guard on watch. The man didn't obstruct Shepard's path, but his posture indicated uneasiness.

Shepard waved away the concern, at the same time gesturing Garrus into the room. He made sure to take a side-step, so he could see the detective's reaction.

Garrus walked in, and then almost stumbled to a halt. His mandibles hung limply, an easily translated expression. Too soon for Shepard's taste, he recovered and began examining the room in earnest. His eyes flickered across the bedecked cabin, categorizing every piece. His gaze reached Shepard, and stopped.

The turian exhaled gustily, picking a chair to sit on. "I suppose those metal objects on the wall are just decorations?"

"Museum pieces I worked up over the past few years." Shepard glanced at a medieval battle axe, bolted securely to the wall. He turned back to see Garrus raising an eye-ridge. "What? Everyone needs a hobby."

The next sigh was, if anything, deeper than the previous one. "What did you want to talk to me about, Shepard?"

 _Ah. That._ He had almost forgotten in the conversation. "What do you think of our prisoner?"

Garrus's mandibles tightened. "I'm not sure if she should be called a prisoner of war, or arrested suspect. Legally, there's a world of difference."

"True," Shepard agreed, "But since she was with a known public enemy, and attempted to flee a known authority, I think we could make whatever we want from it." He folded his arms, "What would the Council do with her? According to your regulations, I mean."

"Well," Garrus looked thoughtful. "If she were my prisoner, I'd have to turn her over to C-Sec for interrogation."

"Not an issue."

"Good." Garrus's exposed needle-sharp teeth, "As for what's permissible … it all depends on who's doing the questions."

Shepard stroked his chin, absently noting he needed to shave. It had been nearly twenty-four hours since he'd last slept; there had been just too much to do. Shaving was one of the things at low priority, getting the ship in running order was more important. It would reduce his efficiency somewhat, but that was acceptable; he'd gone as long without sleep before, and with less backup too.

"I know of a place …" Shepard started slowly, "but I don't want to go there unless we absolutely need too." he frowned, "Call it a hunch, but I've been getting reports – hints, actually – of individuals or small groups of asari going through Alliance space. Nothing illegal, but an honest traveler wouldn't need to hide their transactions so well."

"What do you mean?" Garrus's eyes were bright, focused, the interested look of a professional investigator.

Inwardly, Shepard awarded himself another point; the turian detective was as sharp as he'd hoped. "I have access to a lot of financial data. Lots of contacts too, all throughout Alliance space, and every once in a while – something … vanishes."

"Vanishes?"

He moved away from the desk. "Fades, more like. It's as if the information exists, but is changed slightly like ..." he searched for an analogy, "Instead of being sent to a resident apartment in the Citadel Zakara Wards, it's sent to the apartment landlord's office instead. Nothing illegal, not even suspicious … just a minor shift rerouting communication lines. And each time, there's an asari involved, but no one knows who." He splayed his hands in a helpless fashion. "I couldn't do anything outside Alliance space – until now, but that's only been a recent shift."

Garrus settled on another chair. "You're bringing this up because of the prisoner, right?"

"Yeah," Shepard studied his hands, considering his next words. "She's clearly an experienced asari commando, and with a defunct, mothballed terrorist group. Why?"

He glanced out at the most recent addition to his collection before changing the subject slightly. "The Council hasn't assigned me an 'adviser' yet," he included the obligatory air quote, "but I anticipate their remedying the situation soon. That means I have only a little time left."

"Get the interrogation over with quickly then?"

They had reached the heart of the matter quickly enough, almost too quickly. "Yes."

"And you want me to lead off the questioning?"

Shepard held up both hands, palm outwards, "No, not by any means. My question is: would you be obligated to report my interrogation?"

Garrus paused, apparently thinking the matter over. "If I were still in C-Sec, I would have to report anything suspicious, or at least," he paused again, "anything I considered suspicious. Since I'm here as a contractor though," the needle-sharp teeth made another appearance, "I wouldn't need to report something that was clearly within your jurisdiction."

"Good." Shepard nodded, rising to his feet. "In that case, I want you to watch the interrogation … pirates I can handle; slavers easily. But … I haven't encountered too many asari pirates … live ones, anyway."

"They're a credit a dozen out in the Terminus Systems," Garrus cocked his head. "I'd have thought you had a lot of … experience … with asari."

Shepard coughed, attempting to ignore the teasing glint in the detective's eye. "Fighting, yes. Questioning, some. But I have only five years of interrogations under my belt, very little has been actual asari. More importantly, C-Sec has a lot more hauled in for questioning than my little corner of the galaxy ... plus, I might … miss some things. Asari are so similar to humans, but they're aliens … would you watch her face, and tell me what you see?"

The turian's eye ridge lowered, then rose slightly. He gave Shepard a questioning glance, ridges coming together in a very humanlike move; so much so that Shepard almost saw the blurring effect return. The turian's curiosity was understandable; Shepard truly hadn't _interrogated_ many asari. The majority of the asari he'd met were highly skilled ... which left few alive.

"Let's get to it then." Shepard led the way out of the room. He stopped when Garrus failed to follow him. Looking back, he found the turian's attention riveted to a small implement mounted beside an aged piece of hardened steel.

"Is that," Garrus's flanged voice had dropped the friendly overtones, falling into a predatory reverberation. "Is that a _spathus_?"

Shepard eyed the turian's target. "Yeah; I can't quite make those myself. Had to trade for it."

"Did you know," the voice had deepened into an almost guttural snarl, "owning a _spathus_ is a criminal offence, punishable by life in prison?"

"Or execution, if it's been used," Shepard agreed. He waited a beat, "In Council space. In Alliance territory, it's nothing more than a curiosity. You have to admit, the nickname 'Walking Dead' has a certain appeal to the less cerebrally gifted people."

He lifted the implement off its hooks, letting the squat handle rest in his palm. While designed for the tridactyl turian grip, he could easily grasp its leather-covered hilt. A quick twirl let the thin blade sing through the air, its perfectly balanced length almost dance in glee.

"It's an assassin's tool." Garrus stated flatly. "Nothing more, nothing less."

"And I've used it no less than four times, in the manner for which it was designed." Shepard set the weapon back on its resting place, ensuring the magnetic clamps were locked before he turned back to the door. "It's a tool. I could use it to do a manicure if I wanted. I'm licensed for the entire armory, Vakarian; incriminating evidence is not exactly something I'd hang on my wall."

He heard a mumbled "You'd be surprised," but chose to let it go. A _spathus_ was used to very precisely damage a small portion of a turian's vascular system, leaving a tiny but deep wound that – over time – allowed for a slow, but painful, death. It was no wonder most turians, let alone a law enforcement officer, would be squeamish.

* * *

[SSV _Normandy_ ]

[0939]

The brig was, as all Alliance ships boasted, at the bottom of the ship. Officially, there were no exits, but Shepard knew of at least one Captain that had opened the 'external repair hatch' in vacuum. To be fair, it had been a very reluctant krogan prisoner and a poorly maintained system, but the entire affair had been a scandal, eventually set aside only by the next bit of gossip.

A faint message glimmered in the upper right side of his visor, a message from Garrus .

 _The facial markings look like the Dantius line._ _The_ _most well-known one is on the Citadel, named Nassana. Major power holdings on Illium, but a reputation for brutality._

Shepard kept his back to the transparent pseudo-glass, subvocalizing. His hands looked as if they were typing a report, all the better to play with the prisoner's perceptions. "That's more than we knew before. Any advice?"

Tiny letters scrolled across the miniature screen in response: _Nassana doesn't have a bad reputation on the Citadel, but her name carries weight on Illium, kinda unusual for someone that young. This one probably thinks you don't know anything, and will try to barter something insignificant._

He understood. It was a common enough tactic, turning evidence on a larger criminal in exchange for a lighter sentence. It was a good choice in many cases too, bringing in truly evil criminals for the cost of minor characters … but the idea of going easy on 'petty' murderers sat wrong on his stomach. Was there any such thing as a 'petty' death, even secondhand?

He turned, lowering the tablet so he was looking through a thick pane of pseudo-glass. The prisoner, hands still restrained, glared back with venom in her gaze.

"Computer, begin recording," Shepard said aloud. The computer chirped acknowledgement, and a red dot appeared just above the transparent panel, out of visual range from the prisoner. "Conducting the questioning: Commander Shepard, _SSV Normandy_ , October seventeenth, twenty-one eighty-three." He took a breath. "Subject is an asari, one presumed … Miss Dantius." "

The asari glanced up sharply, her expression unreadable to him. Garrus's text crawled into sight; Shepard angled his visor so the words rested on her face. It would force her to conclude he was studying her, not receiving outside help. _That got her attention. Keep going, be analytical._

"Weight: fifty-three kilograms. Height: one point seven two meters. Age: unknown, approximately third century, late Maiden stage." Shepard examined the captive, noting her dispassionate stance. Despite the fact that she could hear every word he said, she still maintained an aloof posture. "Madam, can you hear me?"

Her head tilted, a batarian move, designed to insult. _Cognizant of her surroundings. Knowledgeable of batarian culture. Useless facts, but new data all the same_.

"Ma'am, I repeat, can you hear me?"

She raised an eye ridge, more of a series of lighter lines in her dark blue face than an actual feature ... or so he'd been told. In his eyes, they blurred out of recognition.

Shepard sighed, reaching to rub the back of his neck. "Look, I'm sure this is just some kind of mistake. Someone of your stature doesn't run around with pirates like that. Can you please just nod or shake your head?"

Her mouth twisted; he couldn't read her body language as well as he'd liked, since she was still restrained, but it was not particularly amusing. His return sigh seemed to come from his toes. That was an old game. _Play it right, be reluctant._

"You have no idea what you've done."

Not the opening I'd hoped for, but still something. _Highly trained to resist interrogation; no shaking, no thrashing … a great deal of self-control. Or she's just naturally that way? Doubtful._ Shepard kept a somewhat puzzled expression on his face; clueless honesty. "I'm sorry?"

White teeth in a near-violet face gleamed at him. "No, you're not. But you will be."

"Madam," he rubbed his neck again – a good mannerism, indicating nervous confusion, "I don't know what you're talking about. Is it the restraints? Are they too tight?"

Something in her posture shifted, relaxing? "Oh, there's no problem with them. They're actually rather … entertaining. I wouldn't mind having a pair of my own."

Shepard cocked his head. _Keep up the earnest-but-stupid role. You know nothing, you see nothing, you hear nothing._

The asari lowered one shoulder, looking down and away before facing him again. "There's just … one thing … if you could?" Was it his imagination, or had her eyes changed to pure black? Asari sclera didn't have that color naturally, did they? Yes there was a faint color shift at the iris, but – it was so dark ….

Something pinged in his ear, a faint annoying line clouding his eye before it was banished.

"Wha- what can I – do for you?" He felt an urge, to do – something. Anything, for that enchanting person, so cruelly secured. Why had he tied her so tightly, couldn't something softer have been used? Or perhaps a little trust?

Her teeth showed again, and Shepard felt a sense of elation he hadn't felt in years. "I can tell you what I know, but it has to be off the record."

"Off the record …" Shepard murmured. Did she mean …?

"Turn off the recording device, and I'll tell you." Her voice sank into an evocative, husky timbre.

Shepard's hand automatically fumbled for the switch. It paused. _Wait, what am I doing? Interrogation …._

"Turn. It. Off." Her voice snapped like a whip, launching his hand as if it were rocket propelled. The tiny device clicked, resistance fading.

"Good," she purred. The sound made him shiver in delight, she was so happy. "Lock the door."

Lock? How did that work?

"Fool, just release me. How did an incompetent idiot like you ever get the drop on me?" Her endearments made Shepard – not exactly smile, but perform an action very close to it.

"Yes ... the lock …." He keyed the command override, releasing the restraints on her hands. A second series – much longer – unlocked the heavy-gauge pseudo-glass.

Knocking sounds came from the door, freezing his hands before the last sequence. Wait … what's going on?

"Tell them to go away!" Her hands were glowing, shredding through the toughened material. "For me, please?"

 _Something isn't right_. Shepard felt his brow furrow in concentration, why was he so confused? What?

"Do it!"

Something clicked in his mind; he rose to face the door just as it opened. A monster entered, dark purple, almost black, dangerous spikes standing at jagged edges. It growled at him, sniffing as if testing the room's scent. Its mandibles flipped open, baring fangs long enough to meet in the middle of his neck. Other monsters, eyeless, smooth black-skinned beasts followed immediately behind it, daring to point flat rods at His Lady.

Shepard recoiled from the sight, instincts urging him to get as far away as possible. Man was never meant to fight demons. Fear coiled through his abdomen … why was that such a strange feeling?

"Kill them." The hissed command slapped at Shepard's mind, a titan showing its displeasure. _Monsters killed. Stole. That made them thieves of the darkest kind. By trade and intent, I am a destroyer of monsters. A killer._

Wasn't he?

Her voice resonated inside his mind, echoing like thunder. "Now!"

The military-issue knife was in his hand, twirling faster than the eye could follow. He made a lunge, before something – something ||heavy|| pushed at the back of his eyes. Pain struck his temples, driving him to his knees, forcing his eyes closed; making him seek refuge in the comforting darkness. Further down the yawning chasm of his mind, an ancient, powerful, hungry _presence_ stirred. Glowing crimson eyes, older than stars, stronger than fire opened, turning the pitch-black night into red-streaked dawn. Its terrifying shape loomed over him, rising from pits deeper than Dante could have imagined.

 _No_. Shepard forced his eyes open, pushing as hard as he could. For one moment, he met the gaze of the asari, could _see_ her eyes wide, surprised. The moment stretched, as if on the edge of black hole's event horizon. Her pupils dilated, mouth twisting obscenities that went unsaid.

"Commander!"

Shepard jerked as the turian voice hammered his ears. "Garrus? What are you —?"

"You are good, human." A sharp, feminine voice overrode him. He frowned, twisting again to see her. The asari inverted her freed palms, raising one to the underside of her chin, the other over her heart. Blue light flared from their surfaces. "Just not good enough. _Ad Triginta!_ "

White light blasted his eyes, mercifully sparing him the sight. Unfortunately, it didn't block the sound of a wet explosion. Shepard winced; there was a reason biotics were encouraged to receive training. _Suicide_? Among those trained by the International Combatives Center, self-termination had always been a – divisive subject. An agent in enemy territory could end his life, preventing information from being divulged … or could wait, be tortured and hope for rescue before he broke. There were proponents for each camp, but he'd always advocated the concept of not getting caught in the first place.

Pain hit his temples again, pounding like a war drum reverberating a message of pure agony inside his skull. "Gah … blast it. Damn it!"

"What happened?" Garrus's voice echoed, as if from a deep tunnel. It grew stronger, "Commander; Shepard!"

"M'alright," Shepard forced the pain into the background, into more of a dull throb. "Headache. Should be fine in a minute."

"You don't look so good," worry tinged Garrus's words. _More than professional concern? Careful Shepard, don't get too close._ "You should see your medic."

Shepard rose to his feet, starting to protest, but gave it up when his head began whirling. I suppose it was inevitable, fall on my face in front of the new help. He fought the sensation down again; certain it wouldn't be the last time. "Did you see what happened?"

"Some of it. Legally, I'm not sure it's acceptable, but I saw it."

"It's legal," Shepard assured him. A thought crossed his mind. "Well, no one has challenged my methods in the past. Successfully, anyway."

Garrus made a face. "That fills me with so much assurance."

Shepard glanced inside the cell. An Alliance Marine was looking through the barrier; the man's dark armor triggering the past few minutes. "What happened in there? One minute I was interrogating her, the next everything went … blank ... sort of like what happened with the Beacon."

"When you turned off the camera," Garrus looked down at his talons, "That backup you told me about switched on. She," he pointed at the corpse, "started giving you instructions. Your voice went … " he hesitated, "funny. I saw her eyes, thought asari couldn't do that outside a bonding situation, but you shut down the link."

"Funny." Shepard latched onto one of the terms. The pain made it easy to maintain an even expression, "I'm guessing it wasn't of the humorous variety."

"No." Garrus tapped the marine on the shoulder, gesturing at Shepard. "You should go to Medical. Get that looked at."

"I hate checkups." Shepard muttered under his breath. He drew a breath, planning on refusing the offer, but another blinding pain spike forced him to change his mind. "Alright. Fine." He had to use small words; the concentration needed to keep away the pain was phenomenal.

Distantly, he heard the turian snapping orders, then the less-reverberating voice of Williams taking command. _Good. Keep the crime scene from being contaminated. Dead prisoners, not good._ He fought back against the pain, feeling it recede, almost sullenly. _Sentient pain?_

"Sir!" Ashley saluted, very pointedly ignoring Garrus. "Orders?"

Shepard glanced back, seeing the marines starting to form a perimeter, standard procedure for a forensics investigation. "Don't bother with the full complement Lieutenant. This is a brig, not an open site; are there any cruisers or battleships in range?"

"Um," the dark-haired woman took a step back, "Not that I know of, sir. We're in the Artemis Tau cluster, not much Alliance presence here."

"Blast." Shepard ran a hand over his head; surprisingly, the headache was almost gone. "Do we have any forensics experts on board?"

Someone cleared his throat. By the vibration, it could only be turian. "Gar – Detective Vakarian?"

Mandibles flipped sideways, exposing teeth in a meat-eating smile. "I have a full authorization for crime scenes on the Citadel; I've run more than a few examinations. Mind if I take this one?"

Shepard frowned, thinking. On the one hand, allowing a turian, and therefore Council representative, to take over the problem removed the scene from his own authority – nominally. On the other hand, it was still his ship, and unlike a larger vessel, he had no dedicated security division. That left the decision between either convenience or protocols designed for a different situation. "Do it. If you need anything, talk to the Chief."

He turned, leaving the group to deal with the mess. Theoretically, he could do a perfectly adequate investigation himself, but that would take up a major chunk of his time. Time that was required for his current occupation. "Joker, do you have scan results in yet?"

The filtered voice came back, following his path through the _Normandy's_ halls. _"Nothing so much as a come-hither in Athens, some Helium-3 deposits and a weird satellite thingy. We're headed for Knossos now. ETA currently about fifteen minutes before we hit Armeni – maybe. I assume we can skip the gas planets?"_

"For now," Shepard turned up the small stairway/ramp that connected the brig level to the other floors. "Scan if they're on the way. If we don't find anything we can always do them on the way out."

 _"That's what I like to hear, I'll let you know if we find anything Commander. Joker out."_

Keeping his eyes open, Shepard strolled up to the medical level. Regulations could be bent, subverted, or even outright sidestepped, but ignoring them completely was a one-way ticket to demotion. Setting a bad example for the lower-ranks didn't possess much appeal either. No matter how much he disliked it, regs stipulated that a biotic attack required an examination by a trained professional.

Even if he really didn't want to.

The door loomed ahead, slowing Shepard's steps. Despite a full decade's passing, Shepard couldn't help but try clearing his mind before entering the medical bay. Pushing aside the worries, the looming threats … stopping the sheer calculating aspect of his mind, was hard. Focusing on some of the victories helped; times he'd pulled a mission out of the fire, particularly satisfying kills. It might not be overly healthy, but there had been some very bad men, and for better or worse, removing evil from the galaxy made him happy. _Enough stalling, get in there and get it over with._

The door slid open, cool lighting inside bringing with it a slight sense of relief. The scent of antiseptics the faint ozone smell from the ultraviolet sterilizer was … tension-building but not overly so.

"Commander? What brings you here?" Doctor Chakwas stood by her desk terminal, what looked like a medieval torture device in hand. A crewman, stretched out on one of the tables gave Shepard a cheerful wave. Her hand dropped like a lead weight when the doctor glared. "The arm only feels fine. Wait until I put it in a brace before you actually start using it." She gave an exasperated sigh, "I will be with you in a moment Commander."

"Take your time." Shepard eased back, taking a preparatory step.

Chakwas' eye was on him instantly. "Take a seat and let the good nurse take your vitals."

"Um," Shepard glanced at the chair, its armband open and waiting. A crewman, blonde hair – green eyes – communications insignia on her collar – Negulesco, Monica - patted the back of the chair. "All right … it's just a headache, though."

"If it's bad enough to bring you of all people in here," the doctor ran the device over the woman's arm, "then it's certainly worth a full examination. How did it start?"

"Classified." Shepard gave in to the inevitable, sitting down on the chair and placing his lower arm into the device. It pulsed a green light across the surface of his sleeve, clicking to itself. Gridlines formed, showing the progress of the scan.

"I have a patient-confidentiality agreement, Commander." Chakwas's voice shifted slightly, "But I will respect your wishes. For now."

Shepard waited as the brace was duly brought out and attached; a transparent contraption barely visible from underneath the woman's sleeve. He used the time for a quick breathing exercise, relaxing as much as he could. Sleep was becoming more necessary; the doctor would demand he comply if nothing else. But there was so much work!

 _"Commander to the CIC, repeat: Commander Shepard to the CIC."_ Joker's voice boomed from the nearest intercom outlet. _"We have a situation."_

Shepard almost leapt to his feet; not in relief he told himself, but due to great attention to duty. "On my way Joker." He flashed a partial grin at Chakwas, almost bowling over officer Negulesco in his haste. "I'll be back as soon as I can!"

The door closed behind him, fortunately before the medical professional could shout after him. Shepard smiled inwardly; an emergency overrode a medical checkup, unless itself overridden by an appropriate medical officer – given an appropriate reason. Regulations had saved him once more.

* * *

The galaxy map shifted to its default setting as Shepard approached. "What do you have for me?"

Pressley, busy along one side of the display, responded without looking up. "We have multiple geth in-system. Sensors are still counting; minimum of five cruisers, unknown armament."

 _Five geth cruisers …_ Shepard swallowed any reaction, forcing his voice into the sort of tone that communicated irritation with a particularly dim-witted neighbor. One hand tapped the console, locking in the shipwide alert. A harsh buzzing klaxon filled the _Normandy's_ interior. "General alert: geth sighted, repeat: geth sighted." He turned back to Pressley, ignoring the sound of rushing feet. "Fighters? Battleships?"

"No battleships," the aged man's hands flew over the screen, dancing with a speed much faster than his appearance would have suggested. "One dreadnought-class, approximately thirty fighter-size craft. Two of the smaller ones are on landing vectors … close to the Prothean digsite if these maps are accurate." His head turned to one side, "Rahman! Double check the topo!"

Shepard glanced at the secondary position, then back to Pressley. "Suggestions?"

"Get the hell out of here," Pressley's own voice was a contrast to Shepard's, terse and filled with tension. "We aren't equipped to take on a full flotilla. Best we can do is retreat and – Jehosophat!"

Shepard glanced at the map, instantly seeing what had drawn Pressley's ire. A second grouping of geth ships had just entered the system … and were now between the Normandy and the Relay. "We're under stealth," he reminded the Navigator.

"My money is on someone looking out a camera." Pressley muttered; the panel under his fingertips flickered again. "Sir, upping that to a near hundred fighters, sensors are painting another half-dozen cruiser-size ships sunward." He clicked the intercom, "Joker, I'm plotting a course around the major gas planet. See if you can do a heat dump on the far side."

 _"Can I?"_ the cocky voice came back. _"Watch me gramps. Ah, Sir."_

The ship's engines thrummed under Shepard's feet, smoothly shifting into a more powerful throbbing sensation. Even through the insulation between decks, the sounds of crew members charging to their duty-stations echoed through open hatchways. He shifted instinctively, moving out of the way as two sensors officers pushed past. They took up their positions, relieving the workload on Pressley. Shepard also noticed the sensor range extended a considerable amount as well, highlighting yet more geth ships.

The Navigator sighed in relief, taking a breather. "Ion drive scrambler online, they won't track us by emissions now."

"Good." Shepard re-oriented the galaxy map, enlarging the focus point until its frame had shrunk to just the Knossos planetary orbits. Red dots floated in a sparse cloud around Therum, according to the display. "Pressley, keep watching the scanner. Stay at General Alert, but stand down the non-essential personnel." He forced his shoulders to relax, adopting an easier body language; "the _Normandy_ was designed for infiltration. I'm guessing this is its test of fire."

"You could say that again," one of the crew muttered. Shepard glanced at the dark-haired man, mentally filing the comment away. _Hudson, Caswell. Always popping up, not quite sure why. Still he does his job._ He shook off the thought, spinning on a heel. "Comm room, send a request to Ambassador Udina, flagged urgent. If that doesn't work, step it up to the highest priority you know. I want him on the line yesterday!" He didn't bother waiting for a response.

A blinking red light met his eyes as the doors slid open. Without pausing, he jammed the switch. "Do you have any idea – "

 _"You bosh'tet! What the quin'vel (1) were you thinking signing that contract?"_ An unexpected voice screeched over the speakers. _"I thought you had brains in that thick skull of yours. How many times did I say it? Always wait for the expert before signing!"_

Shepard stopped dead. The number of times he'd been subjected to that kind of tirade had fallen to near nil over the past decade. He turned to face the speaker, taking the opportunity to examine just what individual would have the temerity, or at least a death wish.

A thin, older quarian with an ornate suit stood on the virtual platform, leaning over a pile of actual paper, not the synthetic material that faded inside a week. Only lawyers and the more eccentric scientists kept that much paper on hand – and the only lawyer he knew that had his emergency contact information was the one on Mindoir. Quarians had taken quite well to the intricate rule systems of the Alliance legal profession, to the point that some had changed their names to match. "Mister Blackstone?"

 _"I got this yesterday. Yesterday! And only now am I finding out you went ahead and signed it? I suppose you think you know everything there is about inter-galactic law? It's not as if there's a full dozen years of education in asari legal schools alone, is there?"_

The man's voice had thankfully dropped from its exceedingly high tone, for which Shepard was grateful – and equally certain his ears were doubly grateful. Another blinking light caught his attention. "Listen, I have geth in front of me, the Ambassador waiting on the line, and hundred other things to do. I'll call you back, alright?" He didn't wait, shutting down the link as the lawyer's vocoder flashed, likely to call him out once more.

This time the – normally – less excitable visage of Udina appeared. "Udina, thank heavens you're there."

 _"This better be good Shepard, I was negotiating with the Primarch of Digeris."_ Udina's shoulders were set, and Shepard would have bet that the man's foot was tapping out of sight under the desk.

"Unfortunately, it's bad. You remember that asari the Council suggested I pick up? The daughter of Matriarch Benezia? We think we might have found her."

 _"Doctor T'Soni? Yes, she was supposed to be in the Artemis Tau cluster."_ Udina's tone seemed to calm. _"What seems to be the problem?"_

Shepard folded his arms. "Geth."

The ambassador inhaled slowly. _"Many, I assume?"_

"Two flotillas, looks like. One is hovering over Therum – presumably because of the doctor – the other arrived a few minutes after we did. The ||Normandy|| is in stealth mode, but my people assure me we can remain out of sight indefinitely." Shepard checked the timepiece on the back wall. "We'll have to drop cloak in eight hours, approximately, but that gives us enough time to get behind a planet. It's hard to detect thermal energy at any distance though, we should be safe."

 _"The salarians will be pleased. They love field-testing hardware."_ Udina's tone was a mixture of amused annoyance. _"Since you're on the spot, what do you suggest?"_

"I'm calling Admiral Hackett and the Fifth Fleet," Shepard nodded understandingly at the ambassador's hunched shoulders. This would be a hard task. Alliance military ships were not exactly prohibited from crossing galactic boundaries, but the consequences of such a move would cause ripples throughout the political spectrum like tidal waves on an aquatic planet.

 _"Done. I'll notify the Council, see if the turians wish to send additional support."_

Shepard blinked. "That's it? No Just-Cause paperwork? I don't have to sing the National Anthem while standing on my head?"

 _"Contrary to what you may believe, not all of what I do must involve tedious routines."_ One ghostly hand made a shooing motion, _"Contact Hackett, and do whatever it is you military types do. Udina Out."_

The signal cut out, leaving Shepard slightly more confused than before; Udina had been surprisingly helpful – pushing the emergency button without a complaint. Confusing. _Or,_ he thought, _more confused than later, hopefully_. Time was funny that way.

"Comm, get me Admiral Hackett; Priority One." Acknowledgement came across the link, once more leaving Shepard with nothing to do but pace.

He spent the time examining the comm room. It served many functions, as navy ships did; meeting hall, official communications chamber, an open place the engineers could spread out and work on things. Mostly, however, it served as its name indicated; a place where the Captain could make calls, to see and be seen by others. Such things were possible on the CIC, but having a conversation with open air could be – annoying. It was light on security, too.

 _Speaking of which …_ Shepard pulled out his omni-tool, scanning the room for out-of-place energy spikes. Surveillance devices could take on many forms, even be partially self-motivated, like activating only when the main system was active. They shared characteristics though, more than enough to be easily detected. It did nothing for hardwired devices, but one could never be too careful.

The comm chimed again. He tapped the answering tab, not stopping his sweep.

 _"Commander Shepard,"_ the aged voice sounded annoyed. _"You wanted to speak with me?"_

Shepard started a new pattern, scanning for transmissions now that the comm room was active. "Sir, thank you for – "

 _"Let's skip the pleasantries and get to business. Did you find what you were looking for?" What did you get from the prisoner?"_

It took a moment for Shepard to mentally reset; it had been a while since anyone had cut him off so thoroughly. One corner of his mouth lifted; there was a reason he liked the old man. Then it dropped as the impact of the old admiral's words struck.

"I filed a report on the mission at the last Relay, less than two hours ago." What he left unsaid spoke with equal volume. Bureaucracy moved at a glacial pace, and even faster-than-light communication would have seen the report arrive on Hackett' s desk no earlier than fifteen minutes from the current time. Which meant ….

Hackett's projection folded its arms. _"One of your crew sent a report earlier, letting me know what happened."_

Anger started to build, but he crushed it ruthlessly. He also stopped his scan, giving his full attention to the conversation at hand. "I would prefer that you receive the information in its entirety. Not second-hand from an observer."

If anything, the admiral's posture grew more rigid. _"Nuclear threats are top priority, Commander. You may be a Spectre now, but you were Alliance before then, and born human. Don't forget your roots."_

Shepard stared at the image, quelling the irritation he was feeling. Chain-of-command was in place for efficiency, and trust. Bypassing that command undermined the whole system; a fact of which Hackett had to be fully aware.

"I assume you will continue gaining substandard information on my actions whether I approve or not," Shepard kept his tone respectful, but let the anger lash out in full force through his choice in words. "I had hoped my previous record would help provide the absolute minimum ounce of respect enjoyed by my colleagues … but I am not surprised to be wrong. Sir."

Hackett winced. Shepard didn't care; the older man was a fair one, and engaging subterfuge on a good man in such a fashion was reprehensible, no matter what the excuse. That was partially why he refrained from engaging the Alliance in full – too many manipulative gloryhounds … exactly what he'd trusted the older man _not_ tobe. Shepard mentally put an asterisk by Hackett's name on his list of 'most trusted people.' That made him angry.

"The prisoner committed suicide, a technique I'd never seen before. This was after she used some – technique … to attempt influencing my mind." It hurt, but it was the truth.

Aged shoulders snapped forwards. _"You mean to tell me she's dead? What the hell happened Commander?"_

"As of oh-nine hundred thirty," Shepard put his hands behind the small of his back, spreading his stance to address the admiral, "I began interrogation of the subject, tentatively identified as a relative of one Nassana Dantius. Assisting in interrogation was one Detective Garrus Vakarian – "

" _You let a turian observe a sensitive interrogation?"_ Hackett interrupted, _"Ordinarily I'd ask if you lost your mind, Shepard. But you better have a good reason for this."_

"Minimal education in asari interrogation techniques, secrecy clause in his contract, and," Shepard brought both hands out from behind his back, leaning his full weight on the railing. "I am running. Out. Of. Time."

Hackett watched him for a moment, an experienced predator evaluating his competition. _"Very well, I'll wait for your report. What's the current situation."_

He didn't move. "Long story short, I'm in the Artemis Tau region, Knossos System. My target, one Doctor Liara T'Soni, has a strong possibility of being on the planet Therum, a former Prothean planet according to the Council's data." Shepard took a deep breath, closing down the sweep. "Upon arrival in the Knossos System, we discovered that the Geth are already here. Shortly after arrival, a second geth fleet arrived. Stealth mode appears to be holding, but I'll need help to take them on."

 _"Understood."_ Hackett's hands moved outside the sensor's range, || _"How many – never mind. The Fifth Fleet is already in motion. Send as much information as you can; and Shepard?"_ The old man stared directly at him, _"Hang in there.."_

It wasn't much, but for such a high-ranking officer, it counted as an at least partial apology. Responding in kind was only proper.

"I'm not worried, Admiral." Shepard let the half-smile fall into the same expression he'd used during a one-man campaign on Kar'Shan. "With the Fifth Fleet coming, the only thing I'm worried about is how angry your men will be."

" _Angry_?" The admiral's shoulders twitched, head tilting in confusion.

"At being stuck with clean-up." Shepard made a clicking noise, applying the tongue to the inside of his teeth. "Seriously, thank you. We'll try to leave a few for you."

The admiral's teeth, tinted blue in the false lighting, spread across the lower third of his face. _"I like your attitude Commander. My boys will be there inside twelve hours or I'll have them scrubbing Arcturus for the next six months."_

Shepard sketched a salute, still smirking. "Shepard out." He glanced at the clock, was it really that late? Maybe he could finally get some sleep – but there were still things that needed to be done. Wait – that's what he'd told Anderson, only days earlier; that's why there was a second-in-command.

The intercom clicked under his fingers. "XO, I will be in my cabin." There. Now he'd be able to get some rest.

* * *

Shepard awoke horizontally for the first time aboard the _Normandy_. Little sounds, feet outside the CIC and air rushing through the ship's ventilation system felt soothing after the nightmare he'd finally escaped. Or was it a dream? _We can't really be facing geth, can we?_

The muted clatter of unfamiliar feet, not in unison but close, outside his door disabused him of that notion. Protocol dictated warzone ships had at least one patrol on every level. And that invited a whole host of other problems. Shepard pushed aside the thought; there were many other issues to work through first. At least there was time.

Life aboard a hidden vessel in the middle of enemy territory was proving to be surprisingly uneventful. Vessels that traveled underwater in previous eras had been forced to engage in methods reducing vibrations – liquids transferred sound exceedingly well after all. Quiet voices, trying not to drop hard, heavy things … anything that could make sound was discouraged.

The cold vacuum of space had no such limitations. The clarity was unparalleled, providing an almost pure view for any sensor sweep … but that worked against itself in the end. Stars rotated, shooting pure energy across the cosmos while planets spun along their infinite orbs. Particles of dust, comets, an entire ||universe|| of matter interfered with any perception – ignoring the whole dark matter issue. One tiny ship was indistinguishable against the backdrop of an energy-filled miasma.

"Shepard!" A sharp voice spoke through the door. "Are you decent?"

He shook his head. "Clothed, but never decent."

The door remained silent for a moment. It spoke again, but in less aggressive tones. "I don't often make house calls, Commander. But in this case I'm making an exception. May I come in?"

 _Blast_. Shepard sat up, checking his apparel. Fortunately, his sleeping clothes matched his waking garb, although he'd need to put on a shirt. "Come in."

The door hissed open, letting in the brighter lighting from the CIC. Shepard caught a glimpse of crewmen around the main projection before Doctor Chakwas loomed into sight. Veteran of a hundred campaigns though he was, the sight of the formidable woman's approach forced Shepard to re-evaluate his previous decision.

"May I … help you?" he ventured.

"Yes." Chakwas beckoned out the door, admitting a nurse with a small cart. The nurse pushed the cart into position before accomplishing a retreat faster than some scared recruits he'd seen. "Sit still, and don't move."

"Alright …" Shepard remained motionless, watching as a cloth was wrapped around his arm. Past experience ensured he kept a close eye as the fabric tightened, feeling micro-needles take a small blood sample, simultaneously obtaining readings. Chakwas began scanning Shepard's head with a small, grey wand. It made no noise, but he could see the outline of his cranium appear in waves on the cart's readout screen.

"You appear to be in good condition, Commander." Chakwas switched implements, "since you seem to have an aversion to my medical bay, I brought the appropriate tools to finish the exam here. Please lie on your back, and look at the ceiling.

Shepard obeyed silently. He'd pushed her far enough, complying was the least he could do.

"I hear things in my office," Chakwas mentioned absently, continuing to arrange a frame around the top of Shepard's head. "It is quite fortunate I have a patient-confidentiality agreement. You would not believe the things people tell me. Too, sound carries very well on a ship you know. Why, a conversation with the pilot can be heard all the way back by the CIC projector did you know that?"

He winced, failing to bury the action. Her hands paused, resuming with a gentler pace. "Commander, I know this situation hasn't treated you very well. Captain Anderson was more than a leader; he was your friend, am I right?"

He inhaled softly, letting the frustration ease on the exhalation. "He is. One of the few men I trust. Others I trust with my life, but I trust him with more than that."

"And he was removed." Chakwas raised her hands as the device whirred into place, rotating over Shepard's head, "Taken. Kicked out. That wasn't your fault, you know."

"I know." Shepard watched the flat scanning machine traverse past his eyes before it reversed its path. "But now I'm … never mind. It isn't important."

"But it is," Chakwas countered quietly. "The Commander can be as quiet as he wants. He carries out the Captain's will, and ensures the crew complies. The Captain," she emphasized the rank with an unusually aggressive inflection, "must provide an example to his crew. The Captain leads, and takes responsibility for his men – you are not a Commander any more, Shepard."

He chuckled once, bitterly. "Tell that to the Marines, the Navy won't believe you."

"Your _legal_ rank is unimportant now." Chakwas cool hand felt Shepard's forehead, "Hmmm, a little low. Of course, you just woke up I presume?" She didn't wait for a reply. "The rank you hold means nothing to those you lead. Only the shallow-minded will use that as an excuse to cause trouble. No, the crew looks to you as leadership, they expect you to be Anderson's successor – and I don't think you want to let him down, do you?"

 _She's good, very good._ Shepard turned his head, looking her directly in the eyes, fighting to ignore the shifting mass of her facial features. "You know the answer to that."

"Good." Her tone became brisk, "Then you'll stop this childish hiding. It may impress some of the crew, but the rest need stability. You need to be reliable. Not just for missions that will end in a few hours or weeks, but for a crew that will be looking to you for years."

"It won't be years," Shepard almost whispered.

"Then you better make the best use of what time you have." Chakwas began dismantling the contraption. "Far be it from me to criticize a good soldier, but you aren't just a soldier any more. You are a public figure, the first human Spectre. Just imagine how many people in the Alliance will want to meet you, simply for the honor of doing so?"

"Good Lord I hope not!" Shepard blurted. The thought hadn't even occurred to him, there had to be something he could do to counter it, right?

Chakwas laughed. "Commander, even you cannot hide in the shadows forever. You've done too much, been too many places, seen too many things." She chuckled when he turned a surprised look at her, "Commander, when the ICT started, do you think they had fully-ranked healers ready-made? No, they needed competent doctors – willing to work with the best, and have little time for themselves. I had just started my career when Gerald asked me to fill in for Doctor Sirta. The man hadn't shown up, and they needed someone – anyone really." Her body language turned thoughtful, "No one actually saw him after that. I wonder what happened."

Shepard's eyebrows tightened over the bridge of his nose. "You were N7 medical?"

The doctor activated her omni-tool, changing the light to what he recognized as an ultraviolet setting. Soon, it was shining it over the badge on her arm. Under its invisible illumination, a series of symbols appeared on the emblem. "My dear, don't try that simple trick on _me_. I was medical, therefore an M. I invented the Plus coat-of-arms. Sometimes they ask me what I think of a prospective Plus member … not many over the years; Gerald was most impressed with you, you know."

"Gerald?" Shepard pushed himself to a sitting position, "Wait, General Fitzgerald?"

"That's the one." Chakwas finished loading the cart. "Well, you're fit as a fiddle. Your brain scans are off, of course, but that seems to be a normal state for you. I presume you want me to destroy the records before you have to do it yourself?"

His stunned silence seemed to be amusing.

"Karl, I may be old, but I have spent over forty years reading records. I know a forgery when I see one. I don't know why you wish your medical records falsified – but I will do it if it is truly a state secret."

Shepard shook his head. "Just the brain scans. Anderson suspects – but please …" he swallowed, begging went against his very core. "You … actually know? I was so careful …."

"I back up my records more often than protocol dictates. One time, I got lucky … and noticed the discrepancy. I give you my word your secret is safe with me."

He blinked, then gave her a slow nod. "Alright Doctor. You've seen my history … I'll trust you to keep it quiet."

Chakwas gave him a half-bow. "Understood, Commander. I know how the Old Boy's network works. This way you don't have to risk anything suspicious, and I demonstrate my trustworthiness to you." One finger tapped her armband, playfully striking the invisible markings. "After all, we Plus rankings have to stick together, do we not?"

He sighed, shaking his head. Then a thought struck him. _Geth. Not sentient people._ There, safe in the sanctum of his cabin, he could let a long, slow smile stretch across his face. _I wonder if the quarians want a crack at them?_

* * *

"Message coming in," one of the technicians next to the galaxy map held up a hand. "Priority, sir."

Shepard accepted the transmission, noting the timestamp. Timing would be critical. _Good_.

"Pressley," he stepped onto the podium, feeling the ship's engine purring through his feet, "Heat sink status?"

The old man shifted positions with an easy grace, delivering a mildly scathing look to passing quarian without missing a beat. "Capacity at seventy-five percent and holding. We're at equilibrium, sir."

"Not for long," Shepard growled. "Give me an estimate for a stealth drop, on Therum."

The older man cocked his head thoughtfully, "Depends on when you want it to happen, Commander."

Shepard checked his wrist again, mentally running the numbers. "Four hours. Give or take five minutes"

"Ah." Pressley's shoulders straightened, "Definitely inside our capabilities sir. If we can manage a heat dump before then, we could perform reconnaissance afterwards for approximately five hours … ten, if the _Normandy_ doesn't go too far into atmosphere."

"Joker," Shepard didn't waste time, "I want a stealth HALO drop on Therum in – " he checked the time again, "three hours, fifty-eight minutes. Get me as much rec-see afterwards as you can get."

"Roger that, Commander," the irrepressible pilot's voice boomed back, _"You want a Mako or infantry drop?"_

"Mixed." Shepard made an about-face, "Make it happen."

 _"On it. One HALO in three-five-seven, mark."_

Shepard kept moving, sidestepping two crewmen carrying a large package towards the aft section. The bare-bones of an attack plan were already in position, but he would need the input of experts. Maybe an hour and a half; add another hour for prep time, and one more to account for errors and repairs … this would turn out very well.

His offhand rose, activating the shipwide intercom. "Squad leaders, Specialists, meet me in the comm room in the next ten minutes. We have a mission to plan.

* * *

The _Normandy_ cruised silently under the stars, a giant raven approaching the planet through the implacable silence of pure vacuum. The sphere below presented a malevolent appearance – eerily similar to a primeval battlefield, fiery magma roiling in channels, cutting molten lines across its dingy gray surface. It was as if long forgotten deities had chosen this one planet to exercise their rage, striking it with every weapon they could conceive, wreaking an unquantifiable level of damage. Fire still came from pits in its crust, furnaces that made weapons none could comprehend.

Shepard watched the planet approach, though not through a secondary medium like a flatscreen, but with his naked eye. Magnetic barriers backed by repulsion fields kept the ship's atmosphere inside the hanger bay, but allowed perfect visibility. The vast opening was wide enough for a pair of shuttlecraft to enter, if their pilots were skilled. Tactically speaking, leaving the bay open like this was dangerous; one well-placed round would drill through the hanger and out the other side in less than a second. The protective armored covers for the opening were retracted, prevented from their normal position by his task.

Which brought him back to the here-and-now. At his side, purring like a great cat, the Mako jostled on its oversized supports. Vakarian - Garrus – was not rated for HALO drops, and was taking the next best thing, along with Tali and a few members of Delta squad. Members of Alpha squad were waiting behind himself, waiting for his word.

"Second thoughts, Skipper?"

Shepard hesitated, then snorted, chuckling under his breath. Chakwas had a point; he wasn't operating on his own, with people that would vanish within days. Barriers he hadn't even known existed were starting to come down … but he wasn't sure if that was a good thing. "You read the classics, Williams?"

The heavily armored woman shifted, "All the time. Some of my favorites."

"First be sure you're right, then go ahead." He cocked an eyebrow at her bland, unmarked faceplate.

"Senator Davy Crockett, Battle of the Alamo." Her voice sounded pleased. "I didn't take you for a classic lit fan."

"They're classics for a reason," Shepard returned his attention to the panel, grudgingly putting his helmet on. "I developed a taste during OTC."

The heavy plates shifted again, settling in a more relaxed position. "You avoided the question though, are you having second thoughts?"

Shepard stretched his neck, trying to get as much room worked into the memory-foam as possible, before it hardened. "What; about dropping into hostile territory, one frigate as support and God only knows how many geth waiting in orbit and on the ground?"

He let the pause drag on, watching the oversized armor start to shuffle nervously, before chuckling again. "No. No regrets."

 _"Commander, Hackett's at the Relay."_

Shepard didn't need the warning. Above the blastbay door was a tactical map, and already there were red dots changing course towards the Relay. Nothing had exited, which meant the second wave of geth had left an observer on the far side.

"Give me a countdown Joker." Shepard walked as close to the edge as possible, following the painted green line on the floor to its end. Behind and to each side, more of the _Normandy's_ active marine complement positioned themselves, readying for the final plunge. The Mako inched forwards, its nose just shy of penetrating the containment field.

 _"T-minus thirty and counting."_ Joker's voice, normally full of humor, became deadly serious.

Shepard flexed his pauldron. The Nightstalker armor conformed to his movements, layered metal-and-polymer moving almost like a living thing.

 _"Twenty."_

His eyes closed. Lord, protect my men. Protect me. Teach my hands to know war, and forgive my failings.

 _"Ten."_

Underfoot, the Normandy's decking shuddered at the forces being heaped on its superstructure. The massive element zero node shrugged off the puerile forces, shooting the excess energy into the Hawking Engine core.

 _"Five."_

Underneath his helmet, Shepard bared his teeth, visualizing his enemy. Stoic, silent machines that killed children to fuel their war machine, things that destroyed colonies at the command of others. _Kill, a true pleasure this time. Destroy them all._ The image of a soft teddy bear, forever separated from the tiny hands that once held it crossed his mind. He remembered to turn off his microphone, just in time.

 _"Green light, go go go!"_

Bellowing a wordless war cry, Shepard charged out the field, hurling his body into the vacuum. Behind him, nearly half the military complement of the _Normandy_ followed his lead, trusting him to know what he was doing.

The planet grew in Shepard's sight, growing larger and larger. His howling cry went silent, a bird-of-prey catching sight of some worthless vermin. _Bring it on._

* * *

 _1) Quin'vel_ : khelish term referring to the lowest level of the Ancestral rankings. Considered to be the level from which the least intelligent inspirations arise; where the dishonored dead are sent. See _Ancestors_ for the comprehensive entry.

* * *

 **A/N: Thanks for reading another chapter!**

 **First, big thanks to Nightstride for his beta proficiency. I reworked multiple sections, improving the content drastically with his help.**

 **Second, to Lurker Jotun: Thank you for your service, and I highly approve of lurking. It takes a refined mind to understand the subtle intricacies of a proper lurk. I generally lurk myself, unless I have compelling reason to reveal my presence ... and I appreciate your 'breaking cover' as you did. Reviews like yours are the reason why I leave the 'guest review' switch on.**

 **In answer to your review, I must ask if you have the gift of second sight? I was halfway through this chapter when I read your review ... right at the Chakwas moment. Yes Shepard's behavior will be changing, but I like to develop characters slowly ... which is in no way saying I have trouble writing round characters. At all.**

 **To everyone else, thank you for your reviews. For more updates, check my profile. If you have suggestions, feel free to review or PM; I don't bite ... much :)**

 **See ya down the road!**

 **Chuck**

 **Suggested reading: The First Human Spectre by Octo8 (story ID: 6764056). Note: this story is anti-Alliance and Anti-Cerberus, but it is very well written. Enjoy!**


	11. Hard Contact

" _Life is like banking. Interest builds only when you invest in it."_

 _~Barla Von_

" _A good enemy is a dead enemy. 'Specially if he's dumb; no telling what stupid people will do."_

 _~Urdnot Wrex_

* * *

[Citadel, Alliance Embassy]

He raised his cup, imitating his companions' motions without drinking the contents; a simple enough task. Faking the action was simple, compared to copying the emotion. The situation was both bad, and good. It all depended on who was doing the questioning.

"Of course, you have every right to ask." Udina gave a charming smile. "Since there has been so many draws upon his time, I was given full authorization on legal matters. An authorized representative, you see. I can also assure you he will not be left uninformed; any agreement is null unless met with his approval. I hope you understand, Madame Councilor?"

Councilor Tevos, positioned on the opposite side of the small table, gave him an equally brilliant smile. "Certainly. This is a large step for one man, even one as accomplished as Commander Shepard." She lifted her cup, apparently savoring the aroma. "Now, you are certain the paperwork is complete?"

"I am." Udina rose to pour another cup, "The attorneys looked over the agreement, and the Commander has sent his approval. When the good doctor has been recovered, we can share the wonderful news." He paused as liquid culture streamed from one container to another, "Two of them contacted me with some minor concerns, but I was able to put their minds at rest."

"Excellent." Tevos gave him a graceful nod, "That is welcome news. If you would tell me their company, I would like to introduce them to a friend or two, to ensure they understand. They can be … eloquent."

Captain Anderson silently noted the opinion. He had barely moved, wetting his lips with the beverage at infrequent intervals. Oddly enough, tea was a custom shared by asari, humans and turians alike; even the volus had a version compatible with their colleagues. It was a battlefield just as bloodthirsty as any fought with blades or guns. Unlike the two politicians however, he watched as if they were rabid animals, preparing to engage him as their next meal.

After all, an old warrior didn't become old by ignoring the habits of superior predators.

* * *

[Therum, Artemis Tau]

Ash fell from the sky like rain, covering the ground with a fine powder. The mockery of snow made walking difficult, softer than earth, harder than water yet greasing every step like ice. The stars vanished over the horizon, hidden by the dense clouds of airborne soot. Constant volcanic eruptions raised the temperature to hellish levels, stopped only by the atmosphere-controlled armor.

The utter lack of vegetation meant the only handholds possible were made by rocks, cracked by the intense heat. It took effort, but Shepard managed to push his way forwards against the inhospitable terrain. The entire planet seemed designed to consume infantry. Some of the lava pits appeared large enough to devour entire companies. This planet would give mastery only to those who knew the art of mechanical warfare.

Clambering over the rocks, fording deep ash 'mud pits' and maneuvering the debris of a thousand eruptions felt like boot camp. It was common knowledge that the 103rd Marines specialized in all-terrain combat, by choosing to train on different planets ... which was useful, but not entirely what he would have contemplated as efficient. Shepard was just glad the Mako was present; without its mobile-artillery advantage, the geth would have won hours before, almost on planetfall.

That shunted his thoughts along different path. Geth didn't possess many vehicles, or so it appeared. Yet their combat strength remained high, due to sheer versatility. Multitasking. Coordination. Prioritizing … the geth excelled at anything involving memory and timing. But one thing they seemed to have in very small capacity was the ability to initiate nonstandard tactics.

Hence Shepard's current position.

"Mako, hold right flank. Delta squad keep left, get to the high ground." He set a series of navigation points through his HUD, watching the movements as they happened. "Williams, follow the Mako, tag-team the turret."

At his side, Garrus sighted down the barrel of a rifle, peering at the enemy. "I have a shot."

"Hold," Shepard raised one finger, as if it could direct the geth. "Ready … now."

The long gun barked, then barked again. Shepard noted the perfect adaptation of the geth, the rush into cover protecting them from Garrus's next shot. A geth counter sniper pulled off a snap-shot worthy of an N5, but missed. The effort, however, was troubling; the single geth unit had fired a massive sniper rifle one-handed, while setting up one of the ubiquitous hexagon shields … and barely missed the shot.

"Delta, take take take!" Shepard took cover himself, unshipping his rifle. "Mako, go live."

On opposite sides of the geth position, mass-accelerated fire poured in through a pincer movement. The Mako's main cannon boomed, blasting at the turret emplacements while its smaller machine gun raked through geth ranks. Ashley, standing to one side, had both arms held outwards, rotary carbines spitting death into a geth Prime unit that had caught her attention. Geth, driven back by Garrus's sniper fire, were completely exposed to the onslaught.

The mainly-quarian group of Delta squad fought with exceptional fervor, almost manic in their fury. Geth units in their path sparked, shields dying, turning on each other as IFF routines were hacked, or simply slumping over under their deadly fire.

Garrus's rifle barked once more, disruptor mods shredding through the last of a turret's shields. Below, Ashley changed focus, launching a minor artillery fusillade against the towering fire platform. Between the twin attacks, the turret soon overloaded, detonating in a cloud of crimson flame.

"All teams: good work. Clean up." Shepard hopped forwards, feeling his boots sink into ash. Therum's gravity was greater than Earth's, almost as high as Mindoir's. It felt a little like home, watching the others move sluggishly under its influence. Garrus, oddly enough, seemed slowed, and he'd noticed Tali breathing heavily when she forgot to key off her mike at one point.

The other marines though, their vitals shouldn't have been spiking the way they were in the last engagement. He'd have to talk to them later, see what was wrong.

* * *

[Artemis Tau, Knossos System]

[ _SSV Sigurd_ ]

Admiral Hackett watched the oncoming geth, waiting for them to arrive. The _Benjamin Davis_ may have been the central communications hub of the fleet, but he preferred to set his flag on the _Sigurd_. As a Martel class battleship, he could inflict more damage in what felt to be a more … personal way. He nodded to the communications technician, and leaned into the pickup, "All carriers, launch fighters by wing. Have the fighters take targets by opportunity, but stand by."

The Fifth Fleet boasted half a dozen carriers, three of which were in-system with him. Each carrier came loaded with over one hundred small craft, nearly eighty of which were fighters, a mix of _Yellowjacket_ and _Wasp_ class attack craft. Four wings per carrier gave him two hundred fighters, not counting the bombers that would stay behind until needed.

"Vanguard, open fire on my mark," tiny red dots inched along his monitor, innocuous representations of what actually approached. "Mark."

Every ship in the forward quarter of the fleet opened fire, sending a wave of death outwards. The geth responded almost immediately, shifting positions like a school of fish. Two were unable to react fast enough, taking damage to ventral surfaces as they climbed.

Good, let's see how they respond to this. Hackett adjusted his frequency, "Wolfpack Two, deploy."

On the screen, two cruisers and three destroyers dove, losing relative altitude to the oncoming geth. The AI's hesitated, and then countered by accelerating their ascent. It was a very tiny hesitation, but he'd caught it. Geth hesitation meant communication – or a trap. Hackett pondered his next move, considering the implications of that scrap of data. He made a decision.

"Hackett to fleet, prepare maneuver Epsilon Five-sigma, repeat Epsilon Five-sigma." He stood back, watching the ships obey. The geth hesitated again, this time even more visibly. A smile grew on his face, "Execute."

Below his feet, the main gun of the _SSV Sigurd_ thundered away, launching its payloads. Further away, he could see the Perseus and the _Tadakatsu_ following suit. Two _Wrath_ class battleships, and his own _Martel_ class were capable of producing enough damage to obliterate a full hemisphere in half an hour. Against geth shields, that power was barely enough to reduce their protection. But then, that's why his fleet brought cruisers.

Hackett remained silent as the fleet completed the maneuver, positioned directly below the geth fleets. While that gave the geth a positional advantage, it also gave his Beijing class cruisers a very, very clear shot. Without prompting, their launchers opened fire, a dozen at a time. Seven missile cruisers, with five bays launching once every three seconds created a hailstorm of four-hundred and twenty missiles in the initial fusillade.

Then the dreadnoughts began their attack run, heavy armor and shields charged to maximum capacity. Hackett re-checked the board, watching for the geth reaction, spotting it seconds before it happened. "Bombers, stand by for launch. Target enemy cruisers, focus fire as you can. Hackett out."

The display echoed his commands, pulling back to show the battle at large. He took a second to glance at Therum, where the _Normandy_ still lurked. He silently tipped his hat at the sullen-crimson planet. Good hunting, Commander.

[Therum]

"Delta squad, pull back. Mako and heavy marines, fire as you bear." Shepard squinted down the barrel of _Excalibur_ , lining up a shot. He pulled the trigger in a single smooth action, staggering a little at its recoil.

"Nice!" Garrus barked out a laugh before taking his own shot; a geth rocket trooper standing at a high point splayed itself before falling. It was a long time before the body struck the ground. "Headshot."

Shepard nodded courteously, "You're a good shot Garrus. Better than me, I can tell."

The turian chuckled, tapping the heatsink in the universal gesture. Its cooldown rate would proceed whether or not it was contacted … but soldiers around the galaxy did it anyway. "You're not so bad yourself Shepard. Any chance you'd be up for a little bet?"

"One second," Shepard checked his HUD. The visor shook, vibrating under the force of a warning. "Mako, heavy armor, disengage. Geth dropship incoming, prepare for aerial bombardment. Set up Shrike rockets, we're taking that flying trash heap down this time."

An ululating cry drifted over the comm net, simultaneously stiffening his spine and weakening his knees. It felt as if something were burrowing into his head, promising death by any means, at any cost. He came to himself, realizing he was holding _Excalibur_ in an offensive position, all by himself. Somehow, he could see the afterimages of another geth unit falling under his gun.

"Shepard?" A slightly trilling voice came from behind him, lower down. He looked back.

Tali had her shotgun aimed past him, but the incongruity was the trio of marines arranged around both her and Garrus in a defensive formation. The turian's head-fringe was at full extension, something Shepard knew to be nearly impossible – cartilage didn't move like that ….

Down below, the heavy marines had missed their opportunity; the dropship was speeding away at barely subsonic speeds while its reinforcements gained their feet. To his relief the marines recognized the danger and retreated, seeking cover further back.

"What. Was. That?" Shepard kept his voice deliberately even. The small quarian that reminded him so much of his sister seemed almost ready to curl up and cry. Or so he had thought.

In response, she keyed the comm channel. "Prazza you idiot! Did you even think before doing that?"

A sheepish apology returned, but she seemed livid. "I'm sorry Commander, he's always had a problem with that kind of thing. It's really something only _male_ quarians do, when they get excited or are trying to impress females," even through her tinted faceplate, Shepard could see her glaring daggers at the distant quarian formation.

"Tali, can you isolate everyone but … ah … Prazza, on the channel?" Garrus asked. His crest seemed to have relaxed, but the intensity in his voice had, if anything increased.

Shepard tapped out the code, "I can. Done, why?"

The turians response was to duck his head forwards, lowering it while his shoulders raised themselves. Shepard could distantly feel something throb, deep in his chest, but could hear nothing. In the distance, he could see one of the quarian marines suddenly leap almost his own height, launching himself to an outcropping before swarming over halfway up. Quarian physiology made the attempt remarkable to observe; the odd way their legs bent and the flexibility they embodied as a race had the man nearly at the top in seconds.

He flipped the signal back, catching the last of Garrus's words. "—if you do that again. Understand?"

A faint, terrified voice came back. "Yessir! I got it sir! I'm sorry, won't happen again!"

"It better not," Shepard decided to make his opinion known. "Or I will personally see to it you are painting the hull. During Relay travel."

Frantic noises of agreement responded; satisfied, he clicked over to Garrus's personal channel. "If you don't mind my asking, what did you do to him?"

The turian shuffled slightly, "That? Um … it's an old trick. Something most turians aren't supposed to do outside of certain … rituals."

Shepard raised an eyebrow, although the effect was ruined by the faceplate. "And?"

Garrus hesitated. "Let's just say that turians were predators, once. Certain … habits die hard."

"Ah." Like how tigers had been discovered to use low-frequency sounds to confuse prey. Did that mean turians were cat-bird hybrids?

He shook off the thought and focused on the battle once more. Currently, the light assault were rapidly out-distancing the geth, flitting from point to point with their jets flaring in the darkened sky. The Mako had reached a stolid redoubt, easily repelling the geth from the safety of two overlapping monoliths.

 _Distractions. Have to get better._ Shepard keyed up the omni-tool, sending fresh instructions. _Might as well take advantage of the situation._

Some instinct made him dive to the ground, just in time to avoid a long-range headshot. Just to one side, Garrus raised his own rifle, sending a return shot back along the same vector. He smirked, then scowled. "Missed … but I got the rocket trooper next to him."

 _Keep your head in the game, if you want to keep your head at all, idiot._ Shepard gave the turian a thankful nod, raising _Excalibur_ to the ready. "It looks like they are defending that outcropping over there," he pointed with the barrel.

Another instinctive prompt made Shepard step to one side, again avoiding a sniper's bullet. This time he was ready, and had his own round cutting a trail through the ash-filled atmosphere. The visor beneath his helmet's protective faceplate traced the return trajectory, and the successful kill. "Got 'im."

"Understood," Garrus knelt, resting the rifle on an unusually compliant boulder. "Ready … and … go." His rifle barked once, twice, three times, and paused a heartbeat. Then it fired again, its harsh staccato audible even through the rarified atmosphere.

Shepard's visor tracked the turian's shots, and spotted a geth squad coming around, multiple units already falling. "Help him," he ordered the marines still by his position. One hand went up to touch his helmet, "Shepard to Joker, do you copy?"

A faint hiss of static came back. _"_ Normandy _here, you've got a bit of chop, but I hear ya."_

"Good," Shepard took a step back, crouching behind cover. "Do you have anything new on the sensors? An asari doctor perhaps?"

Buzzing laughter came back. _"If the_ Normandy _was able to pick out single asari, do you think I'd still be a bachelor?"_

Shepard sighed quietly, and waited. After a few awkward moments of silence, Joker started again. _"Um, yeah. There's what looks like some ruins ahead of you, about five kilometers as the varren runs. There's a lot of messed up ruins there, but … what's that? Oh. Pressley says he has a map ready for you to download, something about a route he marked on it."_

"Thank you," Shepard said politely, "how is Hackett doing?"

 _"I have to hand it to him, he knows how to play. The geth are trying to push him away from the Relay, but he's taking them apart like they're made outta swiss cheese!"_

He winced at the mangled metaphor. "I'll wait for the film. Send the map as soon as you can; Shepard out." Clicking out before Joker could respond, he resumed watching the battlefield.

The omni-tool chittered in his ear seconds later, matching the orange glow emanating from his gauntlet. _There it is, route to … looks like a Prothean mining facility?_ He studied the map more closely. _That doesn't look right. Wrong position, bad angles. Maybe things have changed in the past few millennia?_ He checked the route highlighted, then at a secondary route. _Chokepoints through tunnels, duel-door barriers – reminiscent of medieval murder holes, with extra hole. No, that's no mine. Walls are angled for defense, supporting and resisting external threats. Those pipes had to have been added later, like an old defense turret, or a processing center._

A ricochet bounced off nearby. "Shepard! Heads up!" Garrus bellowed from further back.

 _Brainless idiot_ , he scolded himself. Mistakes like that could get him killed.

"This is Shepard to all squads. You are receiving navigation points; Delta take blue, Mako go yellow. This is the fastest route to the site, so watch your corners and shoot straight. Geth are likely present at the redoubts; so watch yourselves." The cracking boom of the Mako's main gun echoed off the cliffs further away. It gave him an idea, "Also be advised: Wrex is running the Mako's cannon. If any of you can get more kills than him, I will guarantee three days leave at the place of your choice – within reason."

Dead silence met his words. Then an almost universal babble came through, and distant figures were practically leaping forwards. Shepard chuckled. There was always a way to motivate people; to the military man, the prospect of paid free time was almost always successful.

He shouldered his rifle. This was going to be fun.

* * *

Geth were falling like leaves in autumn. The quarians, always prepared for destroying synthetics, were fighting as if possessed, a fact that was starting to worry Shepard. Tali, by good fortune, was holding back, watching his squad and going with his commands with the ease of a professional soldier.

Delta squad rampaged forwards, fluidly shifting over the terrain while the Mako attacked everything metal that moved.

"Ashley," Shepard checked his HUD, "You have an Armature coming in hot, northwest half a click."

 _"Roger that Skipper, thanks."_ Her filtered voice came back strong, as if she'd only started the fight.

A boom from behind told him Garrus had spotted another target. His visor tracked the vector to an obviously non-natural tower. Its lines were different from that of the Prothean facility, smoother in some ways and purely functional.

"Good eye, Garrus," Shepard targeted the region with his HUD. "All units, be advised: the geth have sniper nests. Eliminate with extreme prejudice."

Their foes had been losing units at an unsustainable rate; Shepard glanced at the sky, watching for another dropship. _Geth have no imagination, resupply triggers every fifty kills, give or take. That gives us two more kills minimum. Another shot at the dropship?_

Chittering electronic geth-speak broke into his thoughts. A geth jumper leaped towards him, limbs snapping open. Shepard almost casually drew his sidearm, and fired three shots. Two impacted the machine's chest region, the last blew through its flashlight head. _Close_.

Tali fired another burst into the still body. "Bosth'tet. They're getting desperate, Shepard."

"I know," Shepard keyed the communicator. "Heavy marines, get ready for a missile strike. Dropship inbound soon."

On top of his words, Joker spoke up, _"Shepard, you got more company, geth dropship and … it looks like a cruiser is pulling out and heading back here."_

"Got it, Joker. Thank you." Shepard glanced at his HUD, once more switching channels, "Mako, target … here. Open fire as soon as the ship gets into range."

Marines were divided into specialties: Light, Infiltrator, Heavy and Engineer. Heavy marines carried the largest weapons, including a minimum of four rockets. Their separation between artillery and guided missiles was thin, but these maintained a true missile profile by virtue of their self-propelled nature. Knowing geth were present had spurred his marines to prepare larger numbers of the munitions than normal, perfect for what he planned next.

Shepard watched the sullen skies, watching for the ship. The atmosphere may have been slightly more than half of what Earth would have boasted – which should have made for a clearer view – but the ash and debris more than made up for it. Visibility, always a changing variable on a volcanic planet, currently held up. A tiny dot caught his attention, dimly reflecting Therum's main star.

"Incoming, west-northwest high." Shepard keyed up his rangefinder, holding it on target. "Two kilometers and closing … one point five … one point two … point nine … gentlemen, give it an unmarked grave."

Bursts of light rose from the shaded depths, gaining altitude. Another volley followed, fired seconds after the first. The major downfall of the Shrike missile launcher lay in its slow reload speed; the munitions were large enough to require separate launch sequences. But what they lacked in firing rate, they made up for in sheer power.

Even the Mako managed to elevate its main gun high enough to participate, launching a trio of 138 mm rounds into the low-flying ship.

The first barrage encountered low-powered shields; the second made impact with the hull itself. Combined with the armor-penetrating rounds by the Mako, the dropship had little chance of survival. Its bulk lost altitude, crashing into a molten lava pit.

The cheers emanating from his headset surprised Shepard, but he understood. Quarians had told the Alliance about the mistake they had made with the geth; he didn't completely agree, but could empathize with their collective need for revenge. So long as it didn't interfere with his job, who was he to stand in the way?

The omni-tool buzzed gently, alerting him to another message. _"Commander, the cruiser is almost here. It's just the one though, want us to take it down?"_

"No," Shepard highlighted another navpoint, only half a kilometer from the target site. "Stalk it, and let me know if it gets close. Make sure Hackett knows." He shook his head; space combat was a fiercely technical issue. He was confident of his own skill, but delegating extra-terrestrial tactics always baffled him. For a moment, he regretted not taking more time to master the subject … but pushed the thought aside.

 _"Sir, we have eyeballs on the target."_ Lieutenant Jensen's husky tenor broke over the channel, breathing hard. Apparently it took quite a bit of concentration to keep his squad in order. _"Permission to engage?"_

"Wait for us," Shepard waved his own squad forwards. "We'll be there in five."

It took a few minutes to cross the rough terrain. Boulders, mammoth rocks buried in the hot earth, forced their route in awkward directions. No satellite could detail a completely accurate rendition of the planet's surface. It would take multiple passes, with dozens of sensors all devoted to measuring every square centimeter before a reasonably accurate model could be created. Modern technology could do wonders, but errors stampeded through hasty readings.

He reached cover well away from the target, and almost ran into a kneeling light-assault soldier. With armor covering the normal physical tells, he had to rely on his HUD, indicating Lieutenant rank … Lieutenant Jørgensen. A quick search confirmed her temporary posting with Delta squad, since most of Bravo had the next cycle off.

"Sitrep Lieutenant?"

Her young voice indicated stress, but stayed well in control. "We have at least one Colossus class and three Armature class geth. Recon says there are a couple dozen walkers, but I haven't seen any yet."

While the HUD map showed multiple hostile contacts, Shepard still peeked over the ridge, ducking back when an Armature spat plasma in his direction. It took much longer than a standard hyper-sonic round to reach his position, but the damage it incurred was exponentially worse. Shields could theoretically take the hit, but he wasn't anxious to test it quite so personally. "I see what you mean."

The target lay in sight; a modern-looking hatchway, hardened against the worst Therum could deliver. A massive, ancient looking pipeline jutted out of the surrounding stone, traversing the gap and diving straight into the nearby cliff. Its pitted surface looked far older than the hatchway, as if years slid off its bulk as easily as shrapnel from the near-misses.

Shrapnel?

"Careful Commander!" Ashley's vibrating rumble bellowed over the chaotic sound of Therum's natural existence. When he looked, he could see her just behind an overhang, reloading.

"You all right Williams?" He drew his side-arm; while the rifle was more useful against the geth monstrosities, close-quarters infantry required a lighter touch.

One arm came up again, rotating into position. "Just peachy." Its armament opened fire, making sparks fly.

Jets flared to one side, just as Jørgensen lifted off. He could see her fling an explosive, using her superior altitude to gain distance. The jets cut off, dropping her to the ground a hairsbreadth under another plasma burst. Her helmet canted in his direction, and he could hear the smile in her voice. "Found one of the walkers, rocket trooper I think." A grenade went off, simultaneous as the fading of a red dot. "Excuse me, scratch one."

"Good work." Shepard launched an attack of his own, partially succeeding in shorting an Armature's shields. Ashley's fire instantly switched targets, whittling down the machine's defenses.

"Delta squad, are you in position?" Shepard popped an inconsequential snapshot at the armature, testing its reflexive algorithms. A Brawler was dangerous by almost any measurement, but worthless against something like an armored unit … unless you were doing something so simple as testing reflexes. He paused, freezing as a mammoth, fiery explosion enveloped the geth tank analogue's frame. What kind of pistol had he picked that morning …?

Then he caught sight of another light assault unit descending through the fire and flames. Two others flanked the descending unit, making the ground shake under the force of their explosives. It wasn't enough to actually destroy the battle-constructs, but it did force them to readjust under the battering.

Shepard winced. Things were happening too fast, moving too rapidly. Was that the geth strategy? Overwhelm with numbers? He felt an unaccustomed sneer twist at his upper lip; those were the tactics of a simpleton. The overwhelming processing power geth had at their disposal should have seen them making lightning decisions, outflanking his people at every turn. The minimum application of basic strategy should have seen a long-range ballistic attack, pulverizing the only route. Geth armatures were able to serve as both artillery and local fire support. Why hadn't the entire group shown up earlier?

 _No matter._ Shepard heaved the thought onto a back burner. Currently, the heavy marines seemed to have taken to launching rockets as if they were a credit a dozen. Granted, geth tank-analogues took a great deal of damage, but there were easier ways.

"Marines! Watch your fire!" He switched channels, "Alenko, where's the Mako? We need fire support!"

 _"Sorry sir, I can't get any closer,"_ the Canadian-born lieutenant responded. _"Proceeding on foot. Wrex is going ahead, can you see him?"_

"No, nothing yet – " Shepard scanned his surroundings. Why hadn't he requisitioned an _Epimetheus_ mech? Mobile artillery with none of the awkward wheels would have been very useful at the moment.

His eyes focused at a point that seemed to vibrate. A guttural roar, emanating from the rocks hinted at what he was seeing. The krogan rushed out of the rocks, charging directly for the remaining colossus. One of the armatures was now missing two legs; somehow, its main gun appeared to be offline. The other still stood, but had negligible shielding. "Scratch that, Wrex is here. I think we have this handled, take your time."

 _Where's the infantry?_ Shepard checked his HUD again, noting the red dots floating around the small arena. One of the points moved slightly, nearing the apex of a hilltop, perfect for sniping. _No you don't laddie. Not my boys._ The long rifle swung into position, unfolding as it moved. The tiny clicking sounds it made sounded eternity to Shepard's ears. He might not be as good as a professional like Garrus, but fate always seemed to understand when he needed to kill.

The crosshairs came into focus, scanning up the rock and tightening on the metal ovoid. His finger pulled back in one smooth motion, leaving him with a deep sense of content. The gun camera played back the shot, noting the red flare as the floating unit self-destructed.

Realization sunk in, a lead weight pushing his innards towards his toes. _That was a floater. Not a walker._ Quickly, he scanned for the next blip on the HUD. Below, in a worrying twist, the Colossus seemed to be fighting with renewed vigor – easily holding off a krogan and a squad of marines.

Another floating drone came into view; it was dispatched with the same efficiency as its kin. Then a third. Below, the Colossus was still fighting, effortlessly repelling multiple rocket-propelled attacks. It was even shooting down some of the explosives mid-air, making the explosives detonate long before their effective range.

There had been an effective offense earlier, he knew that. The sniper duels had proven geth had a decent grasp on tactics. Why had they waited until now to demonstrate individual capability? There was only one possible answer.

* * *

[ _SSV Sigurd_ , Knossos System]

It was a trap.

Hackett inhaled slowly, letting the taste of adrenaline-charged air pass his nostrils. It mixed with the scent of ozone from the overcharged capacitors, a tangy sensation. He'd recognized the geth tactics from studies on quarian histories; a _'jies_ probing attack, followed by a _Realk_ escape. The combined tactics had once been the galactic standard for taskforce competence. Anyone with a decent education four centuries ago would have opened with those paired maneuvers; the deceptively simple sequence had few effective counters.

That had, of course, been the opinion of three races born on land-predominant worlds, and one water-predominant society that had focused more on finesse than combat. Humans, on the other hand, sprung from a world filled with water. Devising an efficient counter had been among the first accomplishments Alliance Command had made, after learning about it from the erstwhile Alien Research Foundation.

Sometimes he wondered what had happened, to drive asari mercenaries to kill Doctor Pavenmeyer. But that was history, battle was now.

The geth had lost, and lost heavily in the first exchange. Their second offense had abandoned tradition for the practical, applying a turian forked approach with a twist. That had been much simpler to counter; the krogan had made that point abundantly obvious a millennia before.

Now, the geth were trying another quarian approach; _Na'bahnte Ra'faaz_ , the 'Lover's Lost' attack. If they kept to their previous form, it would be a textbook assault: half the light forces attacking the star-ward flank while the heavy components made a slashing attack along the upper quadrant. It was a classic maneuver, invented by a spurned suitor if lore held true.

It would be rude to ignore such devotion to history.

"Captain," he may have been the Admiral, but on the _Sigurd_ , the captain ran the ship while the Admiral conducted the fleet. "Come about thirty degrees larboard, rotate fifty degrees true."

He made the mental adjustment needed to address the fleet proper, signaling his communication officer. " _Tadakatsu_ and _Perseus_ groups, flanking speed. Match the _Sigurd's_ orientation. Shields double front." An instant later he addressed the star-ward flank, "Ready GARDIAN batteries for rapid-fire. _Beijing_ cruisers, I want two volleys at zero-mark-zero-five-two. Fire in thirty seconds."

Yes, the geth had sprung a trap, but it wasn't the kind designed to kill his ships. That would have been easy enough to understand … this was worse.

Geth could process information at light speed, and make decisions at nearly the same velocity. Orders could be given in the space of an eye-blink, and executed within seconds. The only saving grace he had was the distance involved; no matter how fast the geth could make decisions, he could see them kilometers away. No, that – while daunting – wasn't even mildly a problem.

Cruisers were big. Heavy. The metal found in a cruiser could build a small subdivision, and the delicate wiring inside the behemoths cost as much as that of a small skyscraper. Put a different way, cruisers were considered so valuable, they needed protection while they were protecting other things. That's why cruisers and defensive battle-grade space stations were found in the same place so often; investments protected investments.

Hackett kept calm, the battle would be won and most of his men would go home at the end of the mission. But deep down, the beginnings of terror were shaking at his core.

Even together, the enemy fleet was far inferior to the Alliance Fifth, but still they attacked. Throwing away an entire flotilla meant the geth were showing they had limitless resources. They were effectively forsaking a dozen cruisers. Hundreds of fighters were being lost in this engagement, more metal that required mining, refinement and processing without the benefit of Council factories. Even they managed to completely salvage the remains, it was still a major loss. All for one goal:

The geth had attacked to _learn_.

* * *

[Therum]

The final machine detonated with a horrendous clatter, rivaling the nearest volcano. Of course, that wasn't hard; volcanic activity on Therum seemed limited to seeping lava flows and the occasional flaming tower of melted stone. It was better to say the Colossus split the stones it had rested upon with the force of its death.

The tiny door, compared to the hulking wreck left by a destroyed armature, seemed innocent. Like a child's bandage, on a professional bodybuilder's arm. The sullen red stone surrounding its grimy metal was unnerving, only heightened by the orange glow from the nearest lava channel.

"Abandon hope all ye who enter," Shepard muttered in an undertone. Apparently he hadn't been quiet enough, by the chuckling sounds coming from Ashley's direction.

He took the time as they checked weapons and studied the squad's metrics. What he saw drew a disapproving expression on his face. Heart rates were elevated, which was normal, but stress levels were higher than they should have been. Heart rate history was overall far too high; lower than a civilian's, admittedly, but far from what he'd expected from what was supposed to be an elite force. Their results on paper had been excellent, the best in the Alliance outside of N-school graduates.

The only explanation for an entire squad to have such a poor response was a lack of training. Something he would remedy aboard the Normandy. In the meantime, they needed a break.

"All right," he raised his voice so the rest of the squads could hear him. "This one is for the specialists. Delta, pull what you can from the geth and trash the rest. Set up a perimeter; I'll ask Alpha squad to come down here for backup." He gave them a long look, "any questions?"

Jensen saluted. "We'll take it out here, sir. Good luck!"

Several of the quarians muttered, but followed suit. Shepard examined them for a moment; the quarians had been given a chance to fight geth, his own people benefited from their expertise, and he now had a squad of tired soldiers at his back. The specialist squad – _I have to think up a proper name_ – was relatively fresh. Ashley, despite her charge to the front, didn't appear tired at the least. He turned back to his personal squad; if the quarians didn't like it, they'd have to deal with it.

A thought struck him. He smiled under the helmet; there were hundreds of jodies he could introduce to them. But the time for pleasure was later; work now.

"Ready squad," he waved Tali to the door, but it opened without hesitation – without even the most basic of security engaged. Through a minor exertion of will, he refrained from giving his opinion. Small ears were present. Every instinct he'd honed over the years was practically screaming, jumping up and down on his overly-sensitive paranoia … but the only way forward was inward.

Deep inside, where he hid his inmost secrets, Shepard made a promise. If the geth killed one of his squad on a mission for the Council, he would personally assassinate each Councilor that had been responsible for that mission.

Inside, the entrance looked similar to any cave. Like the surface rubble, the interior had a ruddy hue. While flat, the walls had an almost glossy sheen, evidence of volcanic activity. Cracks in the glaze assured the activity had been a long time past, but the fact they were deliberately walking into an apparent lava tube, on a volcanic planet – boggled.

"That's marble … I think." Kaiden stroked a gloved palm on a rounded bit of stone. "See the color flecks? A lot of heat in here at some point."

Shepard grunted, scanning the hall. Undeterred, Kaiden pushed on, "I bet we'll see some great samples down here. Think anyone would mind if I took a few?"

"I think there'll be so many explosions, nobody'll be able to tell what was left down here." Ashley chimed in dryly. "If you see something pretty, pick it up."

To Shepard's surprise, Wrex joined in, laughing in rough, gasping bursts. Unlike the others, he didn't have a helmet, shunning the protection as only a krogan could. "Yeah, all kinds of tech down here. Might be prothean too. Expensive."

 _It was so simple in theory,_ Shepard took point, waving Wrex to the next position. _Go in, get the doctor, get out._ Nothing was said about geth, paperwork, or planets that try to cook you. _Or an enemy fleet._ He cleared the first bend, waited impatiently for the group to catch up, and moved on.

It felt … wrong. Really, it was unnerving, having so many people waiting on his next decision; dependent on his ability to keep them alive. While ordinarily suicide, solo was better in his case. Maybe one or two others but not a full squad. _No, there were only five other people. Squads required eight, two more than he had._ Shepard sneered at the internal voice. It was close enough. The voice took a disapproving tone; _you're exaggerating. It's not that bad, after ten years of minimal personnel operations, this is actually pleasant and you know it._

The heat was even higher inside, a fact he did not appreciate, giving him an excuse to think of something else. _Give me cold any day. Negative forty? No problem. Wind_ _-_ _chill below that? Easy._ This … he could feel the inside of his armor heating up. _Clammy, sticky … blech._ He checked his neighbors; _no, didn't say that out loud._

 _What about Elysium?_ The traitorous voice needled his pride. _That had an entire colony following your plans. Does that count?_

A familiar white circle of light came into Shepard's view, tilting sideways. In an instant, his Brawler had cleared leather and spat incandescent fire. Element zero weapons may not have had the chemical properties to expel plasma, but the frictionless materials abraded a small quantity each time the weapon fired. Trace amounts were sloughed off, accelerating along with the projectile, but without the pellet's mass, it only superheated into plasma.

"Geth," he muttered into the microphone. A faint crashing sound drew a smile to his face. "Think I got him, too."

Wrex came alongside, a smirk on his tooth-filled maw. "Fast shot, Shepard. Might be some good after all."

"I try." Shepard shrugged. The truth was, he knew himself to be good … but it didn't pay to advertise an attitude.

His boots rang oddly. He looked at it, "Notice the ground?" he prodded at it with a toe, "Synthetic stuff, same thing they use in chemistry labs. Doesn't leech chemicals into the ground, perfect for archaeology."

Information-dissemination, he was rambling. "I want eyes on all corners. Two front and two back at all times," The Brawler made a satisfying metallic sound in his hand. He'd always been better with pistols than anything else … with the possible exception of close quarters combat. Shotguns were a complete mystery in his hands, and assault rifles were fair-to-middling. Long rifles though, he had a knack for those. It was something about the cold mindset, the calculation of each hit before it happened.

With pistols, it was even easier. He'd always been good with his hands, and pistols fit the niche quite easily.

 _Focus_. The tunnel opened into a wider area not far ahead. The walkway itself worked into a semi-spiral descent, a dog's-leg curve around stalactites that helped his tension ease. If the cave had been around long enough so formations could exist, it was probably stable.

Three floating platforms drifted into sight, hovering next to what looked like the decrepit remains of a make-shift ramp. From where he stood, the things appeared to be three glowing eyes floating out of a formless chasm. The probes turned with eerie synchronism; even at a distance, Shepard could see their lenses contracting in the dim light. His pistol came up again in a one-handed grip, the other hand readying a tech attack.

He needn't have bothered. A grenade from Ashley's _Menelaus_ platform detonated against the centermost probe, overloading its shields. Ordinarily, the probe would have survived the concussive force, but the immolating properties contained by the device flash-burned its frame. While the energy was insufficient to remove the shields of its companions, the shields were only reducing the damage by a percentage; more than enough bled through to impale one on a strut, and crush the other against the wall.

"Good shot." Shepard pulsed an infrasonic burst from his omni-too, letting it read the contours of the tunnel. A strange blue glow caught his attention; strange glowing panels over a dozen feet high by double that wide filled the far wall. It looked almost like an aquarium, but empty, forlorn.

Upon closer inspection, the path/ramp led near the edge of a vast opening in the floor. The prothean construction continued far beyond sight, the regular cyan-glowing chambers making a regular pattern as it descended.

"I've never visited a Prothean ruin before," Garrus commented thoughtfully. "Aside from the Citadel. Do you think this is typical?"

"No clue," Shepard eyed the path. The polymer had a rusted appearance, from the deitrus dropped by the planet's reddish stone. "Looks like they planned to make this place last. Lots of archaeologists working here though, at least at one point." He gestured at a platform, raised to near ceiling height, "I don't think most of this is natural. Must have bored a hole here, to see the rest of it."

 _Unprofessional,_ he thought, then reconsidered. _By most current Alliance standards. For all I know, this is the result of a 'renovation archaeology' group, like the one that rebuilt the Coliseum._

Garrus made a thoughtful noise in his throat. "Hmm, like the Citadel. It looks a bit different though, not as … elegant."

"Yeah," Shepard glanced at the pristinely functional wall far ahead. While the obviously synthetic material looked as if it had been laid down days earlier, the surrounding rock had a polished appearance, residue of volcanic action. "Odd."

A howling, groaning sound caught his attention, muffled by the helmet. Shepard took a quick reading, and decided he could risk it. The helmet came off, bulky to handle; the shields would protect his head, but there was no breather for him to rely on for bad air now. Still, the moaning sound was much clearer. It made his blood sing … something familiar.

"Company," Wrex leveled his shotgun at the edge. Shepard didn't know how the old krogan had sensed them before they appeared, but easily recognized the blue fingers curling over the lip, followed by a skeletal face. It screamed at the krogan before vanishing in a spray of azure liquid.

Shepard adjusted his Brawler, aiming at the ledge. "Husks, the drones must have reported back before they were destroyed."

A second body appeared, moving with a jerky gait that seemed far too slow for its velocity. It made its way all the way up before another shot destroyed one of its legs, but then it had distracted them long enough for a veritable flood to arrive.

He loosed an electronic attack, detonating the sabotage charge in the machine-people's faces. They didn't flinch, confirming his suspicions. They weren't human anymore; just a body operated with cold programming. At least it made their approach uncoordinated.

"Williams! Lockdown!" Shepard sidestepped a rambling attack, returning the blow tenfold. "Next time, I'm bringing the _ufbhert_!"

"Lockdown engaged," Ashley's distorted voice boomed from behind. "Fire in the hole!"

He lunged to one side, bringing Kaiden with him. The biotic snagged Tali with a free arm, hurling the quarian to safety.

Twin machine-guns opened fire, mowing down husks with ease. Shepard picked off a straggler, feeling a vicious sense of glee as its head exploded. _Stay low, move fast. Shoot first, die last._ Another snap-shot caught a husk in the upper chest. Smoothly, he swapped hands, punching the cool-down switch in his omni-tool. The thermal coupling exposed itself to atmosphere, hissing as a minute quantity of steam boiled away. _One shot_ – he fired left handed at a swooping geth probe, piercing its damaged shields – _one kill_ ; smirking, he spun the pistol around, clubbing the next husk with the grip, _no luck, pure skill._

"Hoo-aww Commander!" Alenko blazed past, hands an incandescent blaze of light. A husk floated a hands-breadth from the Lieutenant, weightless until the young man's glowing hand made contact, crushing its head. "You tell 'em!"

Shepard blinked. Had he said that out loud?

Looking around, he could see the members of his squad moving … faster. More accurately. As if they were more confident … even Tali was blasting away with marine-grade efficiency. As he watched, she even choked the shotgun, using its mass to draw the weapon's cooldown reload onehanded. _Impressive_.

Maybe this wasn't so bad after all.

The last of the husks fell, and the thundering roar of Ashley's weaponry fell silent. Shepard gave her an appreciative nod as the locks disengaged, freeing the formerly immobile portions of the armor. The _Menelaus_ power armor wasn't terribly dissimilar from a standard marine's gear; it just had more extensive supports to carry the larger weapons, once found solely on vehicle platforms. Compensating for full-auto-fire on both arms required a lower center of gravity, and a higher focus on the cooling systems. Lockdown mode turned the individual from a mobile assault platform to a static turret defense, capable of unleashing even higher damage downfield.

"Elevator," Shepard tapped the metal construct with his pistol. "Sets of three; Kaiden, Garrus with me, then Wrex, Ashley and Tali." It wasn't the wisest plan; enemy action was almost guaranteed, but biotics were a force multiplier in an uncertain battlefield, and Garrus's sniper skills had proven themselves adept at spotting targets. He had to go in the first wave as well; this was a highly sensitive mission after all.

 _Plus_ … Shepard glanced at the massive alien, and the woman in heavy power armor, then back at the decrepit lift. _Each has to weigh over five hundred pounds. If the elevator breaks, better on the second trip._

He kept his sidearm ready, letting it roam freely across the open frame as the lift descended. The tracks were uneven, shaking the frame as it descended. Smooth, bulbous portions of rock reared towards the elevator, receding in sinuous curves, as if frozen in mid descent. To his left, the eerie sterile white Prothean construct continued its unaltered march downwards, energy curtains appearing at the same intervals.

 _Looks almost like a prison,_ Shepard thought. _If it were wider, had a lot more openings. But … why underground, and so many openings?_ _Make it a cylinder maybe, all cells watched by one guard?_

The answer dropped into his mind. _Access, or partially finished. If each … floor … is a cell, and can only be accessed from one side_ , he looked down into the abyss, _Not an easy drop._ Another thought struck, involuntarily widening his eyes. _The other sides are the same type of rock. They must have deliberately built this in the center of a live volcano – maybe started it afterwards? A prison in a live volcano … just how powerful were these Protheans?_

The elevator creaked ominously, grinding at the rails. It steadied, lowering itself once more, but Shepard frowned. Alliance hardware was often designed for a single Earth Gravity, despite the fact that multiple colonies boasted almost double. Hopefully, Council standards were a little better.

The contraption creaked again, then shuddered as the elevator groaned to a halt. Twisted metal, forced inward along the track jutted just into sight. Shepard was just glad it had bent as it had; if the rail had shifted outwards, the elevator would have fallen outwards as well.

 _Marine mancakes. Discount price._

Shepard shook his head. The doorway slid open, as if the circuitry's tiny brain were misfiring. He looked over the edge and ducked back. _I'm crazy, that couldn't have been_ … he slowly extended his arm, omni-tool lens focused downward and feeding the visual directly to his visor.

 _Nothing_. There was a broad section of platform, leaning outwards from the next blue field. Its dull, rust-colored frame seemed solid enough, and was actually rather scenic. _If it weren't for blue blood staining the ground._ He knew the signs; some of the blood streaked away to the side, drag marks.

 _No time like the present._ Shepard prayed there were no more floating units watching him. Chin up, stomach in, he stepped off the elevator, slapping the Return key as he went. Garrus followed, gun at the ready, for what it was worth. Alenko hopped after them, landing effortlessly with his biotics.

It was a small drop, surprisingly close to the elevator's final stop. Shepard made the second hop down to the actual ground, careful to not twist an ankle over the rocks strewn across the platform. He squinted upwards, checking the overhanging ceiling. Something had to have dropped the rubble, but it didn't look like unstable ceiling was the answer. _Archeologists, getting this far down, probably. Cave had to stop somewhere._

"H – hello?" A voice echoed strangely, reverberating as if from the insides of some tunnel. "Is someone there? Can you hear me out there? I'm trapped, and need help!"

Shepard sighed; _just what I needed_. He kept an eye on Garrus, or rather his shoulder; the turian was facing the open cavern at a ninety-degree angle.

Shepard managed to force his way past the last of the obstacles; junk piled up to his knees. Just beyond the blue field, Shepard could see an asari, floating in the energy.

 _I was right._ He took in the rounded walls, perfectly smooth flooring, and the circuitry behind the field. _A prison, for … something._ The asari herself was familiar, but unrecognizable. Her face was gaunt, cheekbones protruding more than was healthy. The tentacles drooped sadly, still in their proper position, but sagging from lack of moisture.

"Hello again," Shepard tried to give her a smile, settling for a quirk at the corner of his mouth. He echoed a greeting from what felt like months before. "Doctor T'Soni, I presume?"

"Terrific," she muttered. "You're hallucinating Liara. Well, at least that's another new experience … I think."

"I'm Commander Shepard," he tried again, stifling his amusement. "You might remember me from Eden Prime."

"Of course," her voice turned semi-professional, "My mind would conjure something from recent memory. But why a human – prothean connection, perhaps? Maybe I am attempting to draw conjecture for future research?"

Shepard turned to Kaiden. "Malnutrition, dehydration, and a big dose of shock I'd say. What do you think?"

Her voice, barely mumbling, carried to his ears. "Now, the hallucination is conversing with another figment of my imagination. An interesting development. How many can I create before losing coherence?"

Kaiden had his omni-tool out, scanning. "Something's blocking me, I can't get a solid reading."

"No, this barrier is designed to confuse signals." Liara sighed, head drooping. "But I know this. Why am I going over it again?"

Shepard heard the whirring sound of the elevator once again. His brow furrowed, "How did you get in there, anyway?"

Her head came up. "Ah, yes. My subconscious wants me to retrace my steps, see where I went wrong." She took a breath, "This digsite is funded by the University of Thessia. I came here six months ago, and have been here ever since, except for one side trip to the human colony Eden Prime. After I returned, the others seemed … nervous. I didn't know why until the geth came. Presumably, some of the others were at least suspicious."

"I noticed the geth," Shepard scanned the short walkway, noting the ramp down at the end. "Do you know why they came?"

"An interesting question I would ask myself," she said. Her head canted, angling at Shepard curiously. "No, I have no idea. Given the interest shown by the geth to the Beacon on Eden Prime, I would assume they thought something similar is here." Liara gave a short, wheezing laugh, "obviously, they haven't been able to find it."

The elevator creaked into position, opening to allow Ashley enough room to descend. Her massive armor made the platform shake, attracting Liara's attention. "Ah. A protective figure, here to reassure my mind that all will be well? I appreciate the effort, if not the imagination."

Ashley made her way to the barrier, moving quickly. "Liara? Is that you?"

"Obviously," the asari heaved a sigh. "Even for a figment of my imagination, you seem to be familiar. Do I know you?"

The faceplate lifted, "It's me, Gunnery Chief Williams. We met on Eden Prime?"

Shepard left the two conversing, joining Garrus at the edge of the platform. "What do you see, Garrus?"

The turian, kneeling at the railing and peering through his rifle, made a minute shift. "Something different. More geth, other side of the cave. Two krogan as well, they seem to be giving the geth directions. Is that a mining laser?"

"Here?" Shepard glanced at the ceiling. It did have a fresh look, as if the existing structure had been widened recently. "Who knows," he shifted topics, "I thought this place was a prison."

Garrus flicked a mandible, "Mmm, possible. Functional look, easily cleaned tiles, plenty of room for expansion … very possible. I'm more worried about the geth."

"We'll take them down." Shepard raised his hand, rotating it in a circle to gather the squad's attention. "Tali, Garrus, Ashley. Stay here with Doctor T'Soni. You're working as spotter, Garrus. Tali, tech support, and keep talking to the doctor. Wrex and Kaiden, on me."

Shepard grinned at them. Behind, the asari was now grumbling about 'crazy humans' and 'too much late-night vids' … which only made his grin widen. Garrus raised his rifle, leaving Shepard to drop over the edge quietly. He managed to get fairly close to the geth, but not quite close enough to engage physically. He made a note.

 _Geth have perfect situational awareness. Knowing where each other are leaves any noises to be someone else. A good tactic to know._

The geth turned, raising its rifle in one smooth motion, but he was too close. Idly, he took a side-step, closing within striking distance. It reacted, sidling away from him, closer to a looming shadow. It didn't have enough time to react when Wrex burst from the darkness, shotgun firing at point blank range.

 _Threat assessment placed me as priority._ Shepard felt one boot catch on a stone, turned the fall into a capoeira-like leap. _Mono-maniacal. Another fact._

He found himself closer than anticipated to another unit, on the edge of their formation. Perhaps he'd tripped farther than he'd thought?

Shepard donned an empty grin like a suit of clothes, and pushed against the nearest geth. It gave way, just long enough to allow him enough leverage to grab its other shoulder, heaving its heavy weight around to face its fellows.

Hostages were useless with the geth. But using their bodies as shields was a completely different matter. He wrapped his omni-tool arm around the synthetic's neck, aiming the Brawler in the group's general direction. "Please, resist arrest."

They opened fire, riddling his protective shield with hyper-accelerated rounds. The geth Shepard was holding in place jerked spasmodically, twitching under the rate of fire. He overclocked the emitters in his left arm, unintentionally protecting the enemy under his arm as well as the arm itself. The geth managed to grasp his arm, and with inhuman strength, pulled it away in a single smooth gesture. It didn't bother holding on, but the high-density armor where its tri-dactyl grip had squeezed remained scuffed.

Shepard winced; he was going to be feeling that in the morning.

A booming crack from the other end of the cave echoed off the walls, dropping one of the geth minus a head. The geth immediately reacted, retreating in a flawlessly executed maneuver, putting large chunks of rock between themselves and the sniper. At the same time, they switched targets, alternating focus like a professional squad of N6 at the least.

Wrex took full advantage of the shift, coming to the assault with Kaiden at his side. The two focused on the more-slowly reacting enemy krogan. Their presence, however, seemed to initiate an intensely hostile reaction from the geth. A dozen – minus one–lights snapped over towards the pair.

In that moment, Shepard acted.

His omni-tool activated, sending a hundred thousand volts into the nearest geth platform, one that had conveniently stayed close enough to touch. His own armor, insulated against that type of attack, shrugged off the voltage without a qualm. The geth on the other hand, ceased to function.

 _This is more like it!_ Shepard's Brawler was already focused on a cybernetic head. At this close range, the round bypassed the nearest geth's kinetic barrier, passing though the long cylindrical shape it called a head.

The omni-blade came to life; oft unused in the Alliance, but always present nonetheless. _Time to dance old friend._ It drifted to the far side as he pushed away from the heavy metal body. The inherent biotics built into the Nightstalker armor triggered, giving off the faintest of lights while reducing the construct's mass. It flew forwards; perhaps reduced in mass, but its momentum uninhibited.

Gunshots rang out as Shepard moved. Experience alone kept him alive; ducking as he reached the next geth blade-first, cutting into its shoulder. The limb dropped; just as Shepard voluntarily fell to his upper back. Both legs came up, delivering a mule kick with a touch of biotic power. Not waiting to see the result, he flipped to his feet – without biotics.

Two geth had approached, an error on their part, but a cunning one. While he was still rising, one crouched while the other stayed upright; both opened fire, their disparate heights making it impossible for him to avoid taking damage. Across the room, the half0dozen geth left were rotating fire at beyond professional rates, driving Kaiden into cover, and forcing even Wrex to be more selective about his targets.

Shepard switched modes, mentally. He was close enough to the pair to spin sideways, letting his barriers take the damage until the barrel of a geth weapon fell into his grasp. While not as massive as a geth, Shepard tipped the scales enough to push the gun's owner backwards.

A Sabotage charge stunned the crouching geth, and Shepard decapitated the first with his omni-blade. As the body went slack, he dropped to his knees reaching around to force the second geth to turn its own gun on the remaining survivors.

Moving mass nearly threw him off his feet as Wrex charged past. The krogan reared back, bringing the force of his entire body behind a massive head-butt, crushing the geth's torso. Red eyes flicked to Shepard, almost as if in approval, then moved on.

Splintering metal, an agonized cry of synthetic pain, jerked at Shepard's attention. He ignored it, pulling down on the remaining krogan. It had Kaiden in a deadly game of keep-away, circling a stalagmite to block fire. Shepard distracted the krogan with a series of pot shots, sparking hot lead off its shields. Ordinarily, he'd be a little more covert with his skills, but this squad seemed to be with him for the long haul.

That, and Chakwas had a gift for guilt trips rivaling professional interrogators. She didn't play fair.

Whining gears gave him a split-second warning before a geth dropped on him from above. Its form – far more fluid than the others – just barely missed him, landing on the floor. Splayed like some giant frog, the death machine froze for a single moment, then leaped away, sticking to the wall.

The second krogan charged Shepard, head lowered. Between the two threats, Shepard did the only thing he could: retreat.

 _Here we go, Lion of Elysium, Butcher of Torfan, Killer of Kings … running for his life._ He made the transition between standing and running in a heartbeat, two steps ahead of the krogan. It was a big one, close to Wrex in size. Under Therum's higher gravity, it had to weigh close to half a ton. But it was fast. The ground shook under his feet, present in the fractions of a second he needed them on the ground. _Just what I need, encouragement. Thanks, I knew already!_

Brief images flashed across his mind; cartoons from childhood, of animated characters fleeing monsters. A 'Prometheus School of Running Away' … even an old reference to King Arthur screaming the same phrase over and over. One thing was in his favor: humans had the most stamina of any species, barring the krogan. Quarians could out-sprint a man, and turians had a circulation method that kept them walking hours after a human would collapse, but humans could accelerate and keep it going far longer than most.

Except for the blasted krogan.

Shepard looked up, taking his eyes off the uneven floor. Garrus, crouched at the railing, met his eye, ridge raised at the sight. One tiny nod, and the plan fell into place.

Running still, now over halfway back along the cavern, Shepard felt the hair on the back of his neck rise. Garrus's barrel focused on him, the black void of eternity almost winking at him. _Bad place to be; mental note: avoid the business end._ The barrel twitched to one side, and Shepard followed the direction, leading the krogan on a tangent.

Above, thunder rolled, and the planet reached up to seize his legs. Shepard twisted, rolling to one side as the krogan fell. It took a moment, but he could recognize the wound as fatal. Even a krogan couldn't get up after an armor-piercing long rifle's round penetrated the eye. Simple biology made it possible; the brain case was located further back than humans or asari, but the low entrance angle had ensured much … messiness.

He gave the turian a thumbs up, and turned back to the main group. Half a dozen down, two krogan gone; time for clean up.

Already he had his sidearm cleared for action, legs pumping. Having a krogan fall on his legs wasn't pleasant by any definition, but not the worst combat experience possible. Bioti-ball players had worse, for one.

Shepard slowed, not hearing the sound of battle. A periodic crunching was definitely present, but not the sound associated with battle.

Further in, lit by the harsh, clinical dig site lanterns, Wrex was methodically pounding the geth frames into scrap metal. He seemed … satisfied, by the action.

Shepard shook himself, gave everyone a visual once-over, and trotted back up the ramp. There were more gaps in the flat metal, but enough remained to keep it passable.

"Ashley?" He rose high enough to see the female marine standing protectively next to the barrier, Tali at her side.

Her helmet turned his way. "We're good Shepard. Caught a couple Hoppers making a try for the elevator." An eloquent shrug demonstrated her opinion. "Scrapped 'em. Tali's over there right now, poking away."

"Good." The quarian was one of the best engineers he'd ever seen, bringing the complex science almost to an art form. The more data he had on the geth, the better he'd feel about the whole situation. Things felt … off. The geth had wanted something, but it was starting to look like a toss-up between the asari and something in the complex.

Kaiden jogged up to him. "Sir, area clear. I think we've figured out how they were going to get through there."

The solution was obvious. "They were going to use the mining laser." Shepard kept his tone flat, un-judgmental.

Something must have leaked through; he saw the biotic wince. "Yessir. It looks like the only way through though."

Turning, Shepard stalked back up to the barrier. "Doctor, do you know of another way through the barrier?"

The asari groaned, "No, I have thought it over a thousand times. This is turning into a nightmare."

Her breath was coming shorter, and Shepard could see a light sheen on her forehead. That wasn't good; asari didn't sweat in the same way as humans; their cranial tentacles normally circulated enough blood to keep the entire body temperature regular. On occasion, liquid was exuded through their skin, but only during strenuous activities. So far, he hadn't seen the asari do anything more than twist helplessly.

 _Stress. She'll start coding in a minute._ He lowered his voice, keeping it soothing. "Doctor, I'm afraid this will take a while. But since we have the time, I can introduce myself, again. Commander Karl Shepard, Systems Alliance, recently made Spectre for the Council."

The barrier undulated gently as she swung her head up. "A Spectre? The Alliance is not even an affiliate of the Council, let alone a Member."

Gravel crunched under Shepard's armor as he sat down. One hand gestured at Kaiden, indicating 'search' and 'escape.' Combat signals weren't the best solution, but a sufficiently intelligent man could make it do a lot of work.

"I'll check the lower side," Kaiden volunteered. "Tali, you want to come with? You might see something I don't."

"Um, I'm not really …" the face mask twisted as Kaiden made a quick motion. "Oh. Um, sure. Why not?"

Shepard stifled a groan. It was technically his job, reassure the Principle, figure out how to get things done, come up with a plan. At the moment though, he had no clue. How am I supposed to hack fifty thousand year old security? If it's been good enough to keep people out that long … well, at least it isn't brand new.

"So, all we have to do is get on the other side of the barrier, which is designed to keep out lava and armed geth," he surmised. "Should be simple enough."

The trapped asari snorted. Decorum had apparently flown far away. "The locking system is a quantum-level encryption, coded to a specific Prothean mind pattern." She struggled weakly. Shepard forced his attention to her face, ignoring … other things. "Unless you have a Prothean in your back pocket, I suggest trying something else."

That was an understatement. Shepard rose to his feet, gravel crunching once again. He slowly walked past Ashley, who was poking at the field with her gauntlet. It resisted her every motion, making her hand glide across the surface. Imitating her actions, he let his own hand trail across the barrier; noting its unusual qualities. Unlike the kinetic barriers his armor wielded, this was an almost tactile thing, pushing against his fingers, little ripples swirling around the contact points.

 _Attractive, really,_ the ripples jiggled around his gauntlet excitedly, as if in agreement. The vibrations shook his hand, like a pleasant massage. _Such a pity it's in the way. I'd like to get a copy for a museum somewhere._

"What are you doing? How did you do that?" The asari's voice cut through.

Shepard looked up, surprised. "I haven't done anything yet …."

"That … shaking. I can feel it!" Liara insisted, "Nothing has elicited that kind of response before. Are you – real?" Her voice broke at the end, almost pitiful in its desperation.

"As real as the stone I'm standing on." Shepard ran his fingers across the barrier again. Little motes of light chased his fingers, following their every movement. "Do you mean to say that no one has seen this before?"

She shook her head. "Never. I tried every test I could think of; biotics, nano-insertions – everything."

Piles of hardware, lying on the floor behind the asari gave proof to her statement. Scanners, recording devices built to record every facet of unknown objects. Some of it resembled forensic gear; powerful microscopes designed to scan objects in even higher detail than what normal scanners were capable of producing. The entire pile was older than most of the human colonies … progeny of past academic attempts it seemed, but of high enough quality to make him jealous in truth. Tools of that sort weren't bought; they were handed down in older – alien – families as heirlooms.

That paled beside the reference to nanotechnology. For the Council races, Salarians had invented the science, but humans had perfected it. Shepard himself owned a majority of a nanotechnology firm based on Mindoir, and knew very well how expensive custom-designed models came.

He shrugged internally. "It might be personality. I've never been much of a people person." True, in one perspective; but that hadn't always been the case.

The field sparkled again, bits of light floating through the energy to reach his hand. Shepard flattened his palm against it, curious at its actions. A positive bloom of light reacted, spreading around his palm in an incandescent cloud. Spreading his fingers made the light churn into a cloud of effervescence, while conversely the tightening of a hand concentrated it into a pinprick.

Fascinated, he twisted his hand sideways, watching the pattern shift. It felt … certain. Familiar; a half-remembered action he once knew by heart. Something tugged at his memory, pulling him further – calling to him.

Low screaming caught his attention. Looking up, he saw Liara writhing inside, futilely jerking at her bonds. Startled, he withdrew his hand. The asari sagged, panting in relief.

"I'm sorry; I don't know what happened," he apologized, "It felt so familiar …."

Liara panted dragging in one breath after another. "Just … please be more careful."

Wincing, Shepard tentatively put his hand back on the barrier; while there was nothing he could compare it too, he _could_ have been watching better. This time, he kept an eye on the asari as he drew his fingers across the filmy surface. _She's more than a little dehydrated_ , he realized. _It may be sealed in there, but she's lost enough water to … good Lord, her scalp is drooping._ Medically speaking, the asari version of hair – cranial _plokámi_ as they called them – were rigid, unmoving. Like rabbits on earth, they provided a channel for blood to flow, cooling off the entire body.

And her _plokámi_ swaying meant a severe loss of water. A human with a similar lack would have been unconscious, or nearly dead; the fact that she was still conscious, actively trying to help, spoke volumes about her strength of will.

Again, gently, he started experimenting. The motes of light danced to his touch, flowing into position. _If I can get the pattern right, just … how?_

A thought struck him. Shifting, he aimed his palm at Liara, seeing the barrier swell under his touch. Softly, he pushed in her direction, hoping it would work.

It did. The asari floated backwards, drifting weightless to the back. The field flashed a lighter shade as she touched its perimeter, then faded completely, dumping her on her back.

A faint odor, unpleasant smelling … drifted out of the empty doorway. Shepard refrained from wrinkling his nose; he'd voluntarily forgone his helmet. What had he expected from a facility that had trapped someone in place long enough for extreme dehydration?

Kaiden was already moving across the barrier, scooting with the velocity achievable only by reducing his mass. Shepard held out a hand, stopping anyone else from entering.

"Sir!" Garrus protested, then subsided.

Nodding, Shepard waited until Kaiden made it fully across, then waved the turian on. It had taken a fluke accident to solve the problem; if the barrier triggered again, God only knew how it would get taken down. There was no guarantee his touch would make it respond once more.

What he did know, was that this was now an entirely different level of complicated. In the space of a few minutes, he'd encountered and used Prothean technology; a system that had baffled professionals for thousands of years.

This was going to be a strange after-action report. Speaking of which, "Joker, sitrep?"

 _"Commander, glad you're still with us. Um, sitrep, right. Admiral Hackett finished off the geth fleet, I mean destroyed every last ship, and he's headed this way. The geth cruiser is headed out though."_

Odd.

"Did they … leave anything behind?" Shepard asked. It was his turn to walk across the field-base, and he didn't watch his surroundings as closely as he possibly should have. Consequently, he didn't see the faint sparks following his path, fading as he passed the field's edge.

 _"Two shuttles, headed your way. Ladar is painting them as turian make, but sensors are picking up only one heat signature, pretty small and hot."_

Geth had minimal heat signatures, other than their power sinks. They didn't need shuttles either; a unit could drop from near-orbit and begin work with no issues. But to have two shuttles, one of which carried only one geth … unless it wasn't a geth?

"Joker, do you remember something called the _kamikaze_?" Shepard quickened his pace.

An expletive nearly shattered his eardrum. _"On it Commander, they're taking evasive action. Cruiser is still going though."_

"Do what you can." Shepard motioned to the others. "Wrex, take point. Ashely, with Wrex. Kaiden, Tali, rearguard. Garrus, with me." Stooping, he hefted the asari in a fireman's carry, careful to keep her head shielded from swinging wildly. She was light, less than seventy kilos if he was any judge.

"Hang in there T'Soni, we're getting you out of here."

She twitched, feebly. "Hauled like a cask of _eliá_. How humiliating."

Chuckling, he lifted her slightly higher, trusting Garrus to watch the path. "Think of it as extraction from interrogation. You did good, soldier."

"Great." Her response was more of a groan, but he appreciated it. At least her mind was still intact.

Further in was a much larger elevator than the shoddy bit of workmanship hanging on the cave walls. That particular contraption was still frozen nearly a story off the ground. Returning through it was possible, but dangerous. If it worked.

The contraption shuddered raising their position by several feet, shuddered again, and jerked upwards. Shepard instinctively widened his stance, crouching to lower his center of gravity. Wrex didn't appear to be having problems; but a krogan's center was naturally much lower than a human's. On the other hand, he'd never seen the krogan equivalent of ballet, so there were trade-offs.

Making a final, groaning sound, the elevator stopped. A small crack, showing the floor where they'd started was visible, but too small for even a contortionist to use.

Sighing, Shepard lowered himself to a squatting level. Movement on the far side of the crack caught his attention; a mostly destroyed geth unit crawling. Its legs were missing, and the torso was hanging apart in a fashion no human could survive. But it was making steady progress towards the mining laser.

"Terrific." Shepard muttered, unconsciously echoing the asari. _On to the next idea. Never go anywhere without at least three exfil plans._ A rule he'd rarely broken – when he was on his own. "Does anyone have a map of the place? Scans?"

Ashley raised a hand. "Good. Work with Garrus, we need another exfil site." He turned his head in the direction of the asari's top half, still draped across his shoulders. "I'm going to set you down now. You doing alright?"

A faint groaning met his ears, which stopped after she stopped moving. "I have been better, but I think I will survive."

 _Good. One less variable._ While Ashley and Garrus were studying their own maps, he brought up his own. Different heads, different angles. The non-addressed squad members moved around the platform, Kaiden giving the asari another liquid pouch, Tali and Wrex examining their surroundings. _Too many people. Have to judge better next time; don't need to squash every problem with numbers._

The droning roar of the mining laser activating stopped that thought. "Shoot. We're out of time folks."

* * *

The path upwards became … obvious. Every glimpse Shepard got of the prothean ruins emphasized his earlier thoughts; it was a prison. Limited number of exits, strong walls, and an almost foreboding sensation on every level.

They were slowly rising, level by level in the elevator that was now working … to a certain extent. Each floor looked identical, a barrier field – prison cell – on two sides, but never possessing adjoining walls. The mechanism lifting the elevator wasn't very high-tech, but raised by simple toothed gears made of an unidentified alloy. The elevator floor itself had ridges running to grates, cleanly polished at one point. Perfect for draining … fluids.

If that weren't enough, constant rumbling form below kept them from enjoying the ride.

 _Prison might be too mild a term,_ Shepard swiped a boot along the grime, knocking rubble through the grates while making a clean streak. _Interrogation center, secret prison … designed to intimidate._

The crackle of gunfire started echoing overhead, the sound ricocheting down the smooth walls. Shepard clapped a hand to his earpiece, careful to not drop the asari. "Alpha squad, report!"

Static met his ears before, a hoarse baritone boomed in. _"Alpha lead, Sigurd here; we have hard contact. Geth and krogan, repeat: geth and krogan."_ The transmission paused, _"Delta is responding, we have them in a crossfire. Stand by."_

Further static cut in, then faded. The sound of gunfire faded, burst out once more, then fell silent. The elevator groaned upwards another two floors.

Shepard leaped to answer his comm when it beeped at him. "Shepard."

 _"Sigurd here, all clear Commander. Feel free to come up any time now. Sigurd out."_

Pacing, Shepard cast a worried eye upwards. He turned his back to the others, donning his helmet in preparation for the surface, but also pretending to focus on the slowly rolling gears – like a cake, he believed deception required as many layers as possible. Without looking, he triggered Wrex's private channel. "Opinion Wrex, but keep it quiet."

To the krogan's credit, there was no reaction, other than a twitching eye. _"What."_

"Do you think this was too easy?"

The krogan growled deep in his throat. _"Too easy, yeah. They fought like pyjacks, maybe as good as fresh-hatched salarians."_

"That's what I was afraid of." Shepard clicked off channel, folding his arms. While the geth had lost many bodies, the actual death of geth units had likely been very small. Maybe the ones in the cave, but there was a strong possibility a transmitter had linked the programs to the surface.

He flipped channels; the one benefit to their tortuously slow progress was that he had more than enough time to make contact. "Joker, progress report."

 _"The shuttles are … well, they headed towards the capital. They were shot down … crazy, huh?"_

Shepard froze. That had made no sense whatsoever. Unless … "Joker, you said they were turian shuttles, right?"

"Yes sir."

Thumping one fist into the other, Shepard whirled back in a furious pace. That had nothing to do with combat … what was going on?

"Right. Pick us up Joker," Shepard shook his head slowly. "It's a win, but I don't know how much of one."

* * *

 _ **A/N:** First, a big shout out of thanks to Nightstride the Best Beta Period, and F13D; co-author do Dawn of Titans, and Kicker Out Of Writers Block. The former for putting up with my occasional bouts of bad logic, and the latter for helping me get the initial Therum battle sequence started for real._

 _Lots to say, little space to say it; essentially, I'm working 2 jobs, and have spent over half the summer traveling. I love to travel, but am also looking forward to when colelge starts up again._

 _This is the longest chapter I've written, period, to help make up for the lack of posting. Got quite a few more stories to write, and I've gotten a lot down on black and white. Slightly new format (multiple POV and no Pavenmeyer intro), what do you think?_

 _Story suggestion of the day: Palladius Enemy Returned  (Story ID: 9736821). A tale of XCOM and Mass Effect, although it hasn't been updated in a while :/_

 _Until next time!_

 _Chuck_


	12. Paper Tiger

_Disgust. And Rage._

 _The first is an especially intriguing word, with roots stretching back to the Old French 'desgouster' – meaning: "to lose one's appetite." Synonyms include nausea, ill-feeling, repugnance and revulsion. According to the Alliance Heritage College dictionary, at any rate._

 _The second originates from ancient Latin, 'rabia,' the same roots that gave us rabies, and meaning: madness, violence and insanity. A more poetic way of putting it would define it as 'becoming violent after losing reason.' Temporary insanity, if you want legal mumbo-jumbo._

 _I worked with Shepard at a distance – by necessity as you can imagine. However, despite that distance, he impressed me with a quiet wit, gentlemanly manners, and a draconic sense of pride. He hid it well, but did not take being crossed lightly. Betrayal was an even higher affront, to the point of outright violence. His was the classical definition of honor: treat all well, but if given insult, respond with blood._

 _Fortunately, that tendency was weaned over the years. Mostly. My records indicated a sharp fall in population whenever Shepard moved through, but whether that's due to fear of his name, or a rising body count I never asked. Serena likened the phenomenon to what she called a "Justicar," apparently a rather brutal form of asari law enforcement officer._

 _Anyway, I'm rambling. What the Council did to Shepard was reprehensible, by his eyes. To their lights, it was a normal business exchange … or so I thought. To Shepard? That was something … something else._

 _Dr. Arnold Pavenmeyer_

 _~Project_ _Ragnarök_ _Files_

* * *

 _SR-1 Normandy_

Liara's nearly comatose body felt light on Shepard's shoulders; while an awkward position for the one being carried, it was the best solution for running. The route to the Infirmary had been cleared almost as soon as he'd arrived on the _Normandy_ , practice drills had paid off well.

Chakwas, already alerted beforehand, waved him towards an open bed. "Careful Commander, that's not a marine you're throwing around."

"Got it," he grunted. While there were exceptions, by and large she was correct. That in mind, he …gently … lay the asari on the hospital bed; only for her to be pounced upon by Chakwas. The asari's body quivered, but relaxed for what had to be the first time since he'd seen her, and possibly for days before then.

"This is Doctor Chakwas," he kept his voice low, reassuring, but clear. Under dehydrated conditions, Asari maintained cognizance long after a human would become a gibbering wreck, but that didn't mean full mental acuity remained. "She will be taking care of you, try to relax, alright?"

At the Asari's feeble nod, Shepard glanced up, meeting Chakwas' gaze; she hadn't stopped working, but she maintained his stare. Giving up the struggle to keep eye contact, he looked down, brushing one gloved hand over the limp tendrils. Somewhere between the landing zone and boarding the Normandy, she had managed to convey the necessary medical information. Forcing the already injured doctor to do more than that … would be cruel.

"Keep an eye on her doc." Shepard moved backwards, finding the nearest escape route out of habit, "Let me know if you need anything."

A hand clutched at his arm, just below the bracer where the ferro-ceramic material ended. It felt cool, almost cold. Shepard stared at the blue fingers wrapped around his wrist, and traced it back to the asari. Her face twisted, something he couldn't read, then swallowed. "Thank you, I owe you my life. _Quattor Vasilias_."

Shepard froze, staring at her. "I'm sorry, what was that last bit?"

"Commander, I must insist." Chakwas loomed in his peripheral, "Talk later."

He paused, then nodded. "As you say, Doctor." He gave the prone asari a short bow, "I'm sure we will have much to talk about. A synopsis of the situation will be forwarded to you." Not waiting for a response, he made for the door once again, and left. Reports needed to be written, two squads debriefed, a new destination plotted, and an Admiral contacted.

 _Which first?_ Shepard keyed the elevator, using the time to make up his mind. "Joker, get us to the nearest refueling station, somewhere near a Relay."

 _"Aye aye, Commander,"_ the pilot's voice emanated from his earpiece. _"Ah, you have two calls incoming. One from Admiral Hackett, the other from a quarian Admiral … um … Zorah?"_

Shepard sighed. "Let them both know I'm en-route to respond, unless they want it relayed to my earpiece."

 _"Aye aye, Commander."_ Joker's voice died, then appeared once more. _"Admiral Zorah on the line Commander. Says he won't take up much time."_

Keying his override into the elevator's console, Shepard sighed again, and touched the omni-tool. "Right, make the connection."

A brief squeal of static filled his head for a moment, then steadied to a quieter hum. Admiral Zorah's accented voice came in. _"Captain, I hear you managed to help my engineer."_

Shepard paused; he'd almost forgotten about the Admiral's brisk manner. It triggered a memory; he'd never actually pinned down what time Anderson had been with the Flotilla … or the lack of communication since then. "It was an easy burden sir. Engineer Tali'Zorah –" a connection belatedly made the connecting neurons fire through his mind – "is an excellent assistant to my current mission. She has also requested a position on my crew, which I have granted."

An explosive oath boomed into his ear, abruptly cut off. While the language had been _khelish_ , there was no question about the emotion behind it. It was not translated either … unusual. Either a deliberately un-translated term, or an obscure dialect. Quarian vocal patterns tended to shift as their emotions did; changing from a trilling accent to a thicker, more glottal form. Here, it had gone from the light trill directly to the harsh tones between breaths.

 _Unexpected_. Which meant he was on the right track. Thinking quickly, he started typing a message on an alternate screen, using every abbreviation he knew. It sent within seconds.

"Something wrong, Admiral?" Innocence, even if seen through, would be the best approach. "I wouldn't have wanted to catch you off guard." A lie, but a socially acceptable one. "If you have the time, a work history for Specialist Zorah's assignments would be very helpful. She is new to the job, but if her history pairs up with what I have seen so far, I am sure I can help with future assignments on this mission. Of course, we wouldn't _dream_ of asking her to sign on permanently."

 _There. Sufficiently vague to avoid entanglements, but clear enough to get the message across._ Failure to send her dossier would be viewed as petty, damaging the quarian Admiral's social standing – plus a mild threat to ensure whatever plan was going on would have to avoid using Tali.

Plus, if Admiral Zorah sent the data, he'd have a much better idea of what he was facing.

 _"Of_ _course,"_ the Quarian's voice sounded strained; the tell was in how the accent shifted again. Translators were good, but couldn't quite keep up with the fluid dynamics in _khelish_. _"I will see to it."_

"Thank you," his words practically dripped honey. Taking the food analogy further, butter wouldn't have melted in his mouth. "I presume you had a good reason for … contacting me earlier? The paperwork afterwards was quite … interesting. Was there anything else you needed to tell me?" Both knew what he wanted.

Irritation colored the quarian admiral's voice. _"Very well, Commander. Yes, she is my daughter and yes, I lied about Captain Anderson."_

Shepard took a moment to evaluate. _This isn't a battlefield; making an enemy here is someone I can't just kill._ That realization took another moment to process. _Well, yes I could. But I won't._

However, the fact that he'd been lied too, manipulated, could not be allowed to just drop by the wayside. No one; _no one_ used a Shepard without paying the consequences; preferably in blood. _Think strategically. Tactics dictates I explain, then go for the kill. Strategy would be either blackmail or ally … blackmail will work only once. Ally it is._

"I must admit, your deception was well played," Shepard started. "You identified my trust of Anderson, and managed to tell me what I wanted to hear. What I want to know: is why?"

Growling sounds were the only noise he could hear. That was good – in one sense. Quarians didn't possess a highly guttural language, but their growling aptitude was thought to be a throwback to an earlier time, when quarians weren't the alpha predator of Rannoch. Young Prazza's exhibition on Therum had been such an example; subsonic vocalizations capable of inducing emotional reactions in others. Turians had the gift as well, but in a deeper, more visceral fashion.

Oddly, neither worked on krogan. And he was wandering.

"Admiral?" The tone held no hesitation. Answers, or consequences.

 _"Det'Kuazat."_ Shepard winced, but didn't respond to the curse. Technically, profanity, but viewed as on the same level as most outright curses. _"Do you think I will show you my throat, Commander Shepard?"_

Repeated usage of his rank made it an intended insult. Only a Captain was respected as a shipmaster, in Quarian culture Shepard knew. He ignored it, like all the insults thrown at him over the years; forgive, but don't forget. "I took a grenade to the chest for her. Went through an army of mercenaries, and destroyed a slaver ring to get her back. You sent me after Tali'Zorah nar Rayya, and allowed her to go."

 _"Bosh'tet_." It didn't have any heat in the word, yet gave the heartfelt impression of being completely sincere. _"Give me your word that Tali will never hear this from you. What I've done."_

Shepard considered the request, checking for loopholes, and nodded. "I agree to your terms." He didn't like it, but it wasn't _his_ family.

 _"Tali … Na'Vera … is my only daughter,"_ Zorah's voice held a low timbre, almost daring Shepard to crack a joke. _"When Na'Saera died, she was all that was left. Humans react differently, I am told. To my people, when your mate dies, suicidal thoughts are expected – many comply. Friends, family, everyone knows this; it is why many of my people fear becoming attached to someone not of the people."_

 _"_ Understood _."_ Shepard folded his arms over his chest; emotional manipulation was a possible reason, but he didn't have the heart to voice the cynical opinion.

 _"Tali looked exactly like her mother, but she inherited her intelligence from me."_ That felt insulting, but perhaps quarians held different views? _"Her mother was the kindest woman you would have ever met. Beautiful, a strong warrior, one of the elite War Dancers. My Tali grew up to have her strength, but my intellect helped shape her as well."_ The voice paused, but Shepard held his peace. He had a feeling only a very few had heard this story.

" _You know of our Pilgrimage, our rite to adulthood. Ever since our peoples have met, the tradition has become less – obligatory, a trait that has been acceptable to most of my people._ _When_ _she decided_ _to go on Pilg_ _rimage outside the Rila'Keel (2) – the regions the Flotilla has established – I knew I had failed her."_

A curious statement, hinting at deeper meanings. But, ultimately, not Shepard's concern. _Time to go on the offensive, harsh though it may be._

"Spare me the platitudes." Shepard interrupted. "What happens in your house is a matter of your family; not mine. If you need a chaplain, there's a good one on the _Normandy_ , but again, it's none of my business. All I want from you is a lack of interference from now on. I will look out for your daughter, but treat her as she is: a soldier."

Quieter growls whispered from the earpiece, then died away. _"Very well, Shepard. I will leave her in your care."_ The accent grew thicker, adding menace to the admiral's voice. _"But let her come to harm without a very good reason, and there will be no place in the galaxy you can hide from me."_

That kind of statement required a moment of respectful introspection. Despite the idea of an angry father threatening one of the most accomplished killers in the galaxy, bar none. "Your bargain is acceptable," he had to fight down the amusement from his voice, but it was completely worth it. "Shepard out."

As the last vestiges of static left his ears, he checked his omni-tool, selecting a message received a short time before.

 _Shepard; no, I do not know an Admiral Zorah. Nor have I experience in Flotilla operations._

 _Anderson_

There it was, in black-and-orange. If Anderson had been where Admiral Zorah had claimed, he would have possessed extensive knowledge of their operations. Shepard knew some, but only due to a stint with a _khelish_ War-Dancer group …. However Anderson's phrasing indicated a lack of involvement in quarian operations; unusual for an N7 graduate of his class, but not improbable. There were few enough of them as it was.

That smacked of the Admiral's intent being part of a larger game. _Circles within circles. Now I have to interrogate Tali. Damn._

Moving on, Shepard reached his cabin. He still needed to speak with Admiral Hackett, then check on what Navigator Pressley had discovered. Not to mention file reports, debrief the squads, check the Normandy After-Action reports … he sighed.

At least he wasn't bored. Insanity lay in the other direction.

* * *

 _SR-1 Normandy_

 _Captain's Cabin_

Shepard glanced at the first entry, skimmed over it and continued down the list. His face stiffened by the fifth page, and began to frown after the first dozen pages. It downright scowled at the twentieth page and subsequently, grew downright murderous.

"You wanted to see me, Commander?" A flanged voice interrupted his thoughts.

He looked up, easily identifying Garrus's dark blue armor and facepaint. The turian had recovered well, and apparently repaired the damage his armor had taken. "I just received the report on Saren's financial situation. It's … bad."

The turian glanced around, seeming to take note of the decorative weaponry once more, then pulled a crate to Shepard's desk. "How bad?"

Numbers danced under Shepard's fingertips. "I'm only halfway through the summary, a fifty page summary mind you, but I can tell you exactly how Saren's been making money." He fought to control his voice, regaining mastery after a moment's struggle. "Legal ventures that fund illegal gain."

An intent look came to Garrus's expression. "How so?"

Shepard flipped open a file, transferring it to the main screen of his desk monitor. "Twenty odd years ago, Saren became a majority shareholder in an asari communications company. He pushed through a number of reform policies that created massive profits … before bankrupting the company. He took that money and blamed anyone but himself for the crash, and bought more majority stakes." The numbers flipped, steadily increasing in multiple columns. "I think he used that as a test run, a method for checking ideas for what worked and what didn't. The next time, he used his Spectre status to … help. Immunity to five slavers in return for 'services rendered.' Given the business branches Saren pushed his companies into, I can guess what they did."

"Branches?" Garrus looked at the numbers, "Looks legitimate to me. International Communications, Rider Safe-System, even a couple …" his eyes narrowed, " _Subaran_. I know that one, a turian owned company, run by a few Volus ministers off the Citadel. Very legal so far as I know."

"It is." Shepard clicked a control, increasing the spreadsheet's range. "Adult entertainment is a legal, profitable means of business. Almost every communication company has a variation; whether by selling or producing. It's been that way for humans since the twenty-first century. If morals aren't a problem, the best way for a company to boost profits in that sector is to ensure their studios can get actors for cheap." He gave the turian a meaningful look.

Realization dawned on the turian's face. "So the five slavers – "

"There is no proof, here at least, that the slavers are connected to the industry. But I do know those slavers. I killed three of them, when they entered Alliance space twelve years ago; they had a cargo-hold full of colonists." Shepard pointed at the screen, "But what is relevant here is that after Saren began making money hand over fist that way, he diversified. Brothels. Stripper joints. Anything involving adult entertainment and requiring a steady, cheap source of labor."

"Spirits," Garrus cut himself off, swearing under his breath.

Shepard grunted, agreeing. The electronics in his hands hummed as more power rushed through the systems. Data flowed across the screen, multiplying again and again. Years of collected information could be stored in a data chip the size of a thumbnail, an awesome thing to contemplate.

"Where did you get all this, Shepard? Did Saren actually use his name for this?"

Shepard shook his head. "Saren used secondary accounts, after his first three iterations. After Tevan Communications went bankrupt, he divided his funds under his own name in Sey'kan International and several subsidiaries. The money was traced from the very beginning, so I have trails to a lot of places … but …."

A taloned fist smacked against the metal table. "The Attican Traverse."

Unhappily, Shepard nodded. "The Traverse. No regulation, no records, and anyone can do almost anything out there."

Both of them contemplated the implications. The Traverse was essentially a no-man's land. Multiple entities claimed ownership, but no one actually held it. Pirates roamed its borders, and only military vessels – or well-protected convoys risked transit without Relays.

Garrus stirred. "There's always Omega."

Shepard hissed, "I'd prefer to avoid Omega."

"It's the most organized place in the Terminus Systems. Records have to be kept if you're going to make money, and it's the biggest profit center there."

"No." Shepard said firmly. "Another option."

An interruption in the form of Joker paused their conversation. _"Um, Commander? Alenko wants to talk with you in the Hanger deck."_

"I'll be there in a minute," Shepard glanced at the paperwork again before reaching for the switch. "Thank you."

He sighed before pushing the data sheets over to the turian detective. "If you'll keep looking, see where he's getting the money. Pressley has another set, working on a link to Noveria." Money didn't come from the void, it had to grow. Starting with seed money took years, decades even. The amount Saren was throwing around had to be ripped off from an account that had been working for … Shepard stopped.

That kind of money required _centuries_ to build. As in, investments built with direct intent by a long-lived individual. Like a certain asari, known to have associated with Saren recently, whose daughter was now aboard his ship.

"Garrus?" Something in his voice must have changed, since he jerked towards Shepard. "Just a possibility, but would Matriarch Benezia's finances have a chance of being connected here?"

* * *

Hanger decks across the galaxy shared values in many ways. All of them were massive, compared to other deck-space proportions, and were usually full of people that absolutely _knew_ their tasks superseded everything else in the vicinity. To paraphrase, it was a life of the quick and the dead: watch where you walked, or risk being flattened.

Grey metal plates rang under his boots; that was another feature common across the known cosmos. When ships continually blasted off and onto a flat surface, there was little point in coloring it. Some of the more luxuriant cruise liners had ferro-ceramic plates embedded, and there were varieties available that turned landing into an art form. That kind of platform required a treasury the size of a medium-sized colony. On the _Normandy_ , scuffed yet durable armor was enough. It was bland, but cruiser-grade armor was as common as hydrogen, and didn't require a dozen artists to argue about placement, lighting, and who received the greatest amount of credit.

A mechanic, pulling a heavy cargo-shifter, bumped into Shepard, cursing before trundling onwards.

Shepard raised his eyebrows at the man, before continuing. Even Commanders were subject to the Law of the Deck: he with the bigger load had right-of-way _. Maybe a little of that upper-class mannerism wouldn't be out of place_ , he considered. _Nah. Honest opinion over flowery garbage any day._

He spotted Gunnery Chief Williams – Ashley he corrected himself – working at the ordnance platform. The dark hair, deeply tanned skin and highly defined forearms were a giveaway. She waved at him, then returned to her work; what looked like an _Armageddon_ shotgun exposed before her predatory movements.

"Sir, over here," Alenko called from just beyond Shepard's peripheral.

He wandered over to the Lieutenant's position, noting that it sat squarely next to a container roughly the size of the man. "Kaiden, got here as soon as I could. What can I do for you?"

Kaiden gestured at the tall thing. "Actually, sir, it's this. It's addressed to you, but I'm not getting anything matching our manifest. We checked the inventory at the Citadel … but it's not showing up."

"Oh?" Shepard leaned closer, examining the covering. "Who spotted it first?"

"Um," Kaiden checked his pad, "That would have been Technician Caswell Hudson."

 _Him again._ Shepard nodded again. "When you have a chance, send him my way, yes? For now, let's see what this is all about."

The packaging was very well done, fiber-plast sealed with polycarbonate adhesives. Overall, he'd have judged the size as roughly half as long as the Mako, and half as wide too. More impressively, the side facing him bore a biometric reader, rendering the whole thing operable solely by the programmed recipient – presumably, himself. The more extreme versions could detonate if accessed by the wrong person … "Lieutenant, has anyone tried opening this?"

Kaiden shrugged. "Pressley started to, but it gave him a warning."

Shepard drew back sharply. "A warning?"

"Aye sir, a yellow blinking light and a 'please stand back' sign." He retreated a few steps, "No offence, but I'll be standing back here. Sir."

Chuckling, Shepard waved him off. "Probably a good idea. This shouldn't take long."

The panel beeped under his touch, molding to his fingertips. Salarian expertise had taken human security measures and added a healthy dose of paranoia. Nanotechnology, increased their capabilities to almost mythical levels … such as now. Nano-vials perforated Shepard's fingertips, confirming his identity on a genetic level. Each whorl on his fingertip was recorded, and matched with his past known signature.

The polycarbon seals melted, leaving only the easily-torn fiber-plast protecting the innards.

It ripped away, revealing the gleam of high-quality steel. Powerful barrier emitters regularly showed through the metal in even rows, centimeters apart. The construct itself appeared split into two sections, one as tall as himself with what looked like a safe door built in, while the other half came up only to his hips – creating a long flat desk-like structure with anvil-shaped protrusions.

"I don't believe it," Shepard's jaw dropped. "A Jay-Pee twelve-fifty E-zee?" He checked an embossed signature, lining the topmost edge of the safe-door. His eyebrows jumped. "Master grade?"

Kaiden approached carefully, "Um, sir?"

Shepard ran his hands over the flat surface. No trace of his hands remained, despite their dusty nature _. I haven't seen one of these in over a decade. Why here, why now?_

"Shepard?"

He came out of it, straightening. "Yes Lieutenant?"

Kaiden looked somewhat embarrassed, "Sir, what is it?"

"Oh," Shepard writhed inwardly, twisting between the urge to jump up and down in delight, and ranting about the suspicious nature of the object. "This, Lieutenant is to the blacksmith what a Stradivarius is to the violinist. A Julianne-Powerdine StarForge, E-3 version. E for Element Zero enhanced."

Hammers, rows of variable-weight hammers called his hands from their place on the backboard, masterfully worked lengths perfectly suited for an equally experienced metalsmith. He could tell, just from looking, that the anvil surfaces were precisely even, down to a molecular leveler's standards. Enough element zero existed inside the forge to power a small freighter, yet was compressed to a fraction of its normal size. Element zero held astounding capabilities, and when used on itself, made theoretical physicists hunt for the nearest exit. In his hands, the power to create would be astounding; decades of waiting or no. Except …

"There has to be a note, or something," Shepard started searching the smooth metal. "Who sent it?"

A new voice spoke up, "Technician Hudson reporting as ordered, sir!"

Shepard looked up sharply. Hudson was of average height, dark hair and a somewhat … padded … appearance. _Answers, at last!_ "Technician, what do you know about this package?"

The smaller man glanced at the anvil, then back at him. "A salarian delivered it to the hanger about two hours before liftoff. It wasn't on the invoice, but he had a service order and everything."

That was more than strange. "Did this salarian happen to leave a note?"

"What? Oh, yeah," one hand dug in a side pocket; "I was going to get it to you as soon as I came off shift, but then we had to get to battle stations and –"

"Understood." Shepard growled. "That was completely ignoring procedure, Technician. You should know the protocols involved. Security depends on that; yes?"

Hudson stepped back, gulping. "Sir, yessir. Sorry about that sir."

Shepard glared another moment, turning the situation over in his mind. While nothing had happened, something so large, and clearly nonstandard should have triggered more alarms than a combat drill. Without thinking hard, he could recall three assassination efforts using the exact same method. Unofficial record, of course.

"Thank you. I will be speaking to your watch command about this," He lowered his tone, narrowing his eyes at the man. "I'll be watching, Technician."

Hudson saluted again, holding it and stammering until Shepard jerked his head to the door. "Dismissed."

As the technician fled, Alenko stepped up beside Shepard. "Commander, that might have been a little … harsh."

"It was." Shepard returned his attention to the device at hand. He picked up the digital tablet, where Hudson had dropped it, and lifted it into place. "This is a warship Lieutenant. The sooner he learns it, the better things will be for him. Speaking of which," he left the tablet in one hand, not looking at its contents, "what did you think of the squads' performance on Therum?"

Alenko brushed an errant lock from over one ear. "I filed my AAR report an hour ago, did you get it?"

"Off the record," he bypassed the side-step attempt. "Your honest opinion."

The biotic sighed, glancing over his shoulder. Shepard nodded, waving Ashley over. "You too, Williams. Opinions on Therum performance?"

Ashley shrugged, "Could have gone a lot better. Geth aren't really on the training sequence, but we got through 'em alright."

Alenko winced, but nodded slow agreement. "It could have gone better, but it could have gone worse."

Crossing his arms, Shepard scowled at the table. "Agreed. But I think it could have gone a lot better. I received the last AAR's, went through them. And one thing keeps popping up, they weren't ready. Not for a planet like Therum, not for geth. Why?"

"Why?" Ashley sputtered, "Geth? Who in their right mind would expect geth? They've been hiding for centuries!"

Shepard pinned her with a withering stare, "Eden Prime. A little less than a week is not much time I admit, only a few minutes are needed to prepare zapper mods. Only the engineers had overload queued for battle, the heavy marines were still using armor penetration mods, and the entire company acted like a ten-mile hike was going to kill them!"

"Higher gravity," Alenko reminded him.

"High grav my left foot!" Shepard tossed the tablet back down, "If they wanted high gravity environments, they should try Dakuuna!" He took in a deep breath, then exhaled for a count of five. "No, they need to learn how to fight, and fight well."

Ashley leaned a hip against the anvil, folding her arms. "You're one of the best, Commander. In any other comparison, the marines would be considered supermen. You? You're a superman's superman."

"Gah." Shepard turned away, running fingers through his hair. It was short by design; shorter hair meant no one could grab it in a fight. "All it took for me was practice, lots of practice. I can't get them up to N7 standards, but in a few months, I bet you I could have the company up to N5. At least."

She pushed away with a jerk, "You mean that?" Interest colored her voice. Beside her, Kaiden's body language became just as attentive.

The hanger became quiet, Shepard noticed. Heads were turned, not in his direction exactly, but enough so every word he spoke could be heard. _Scuttlebutt, the fastest thing in the universe_.

"Let me get something clear," both hands rested on his biceps, slightly widening his stance. His knees flexed slightly, giving him a better angle to continue glaring at Ashley. "This is the SR-1 _Normandy_. Every soldier, every sailor, every technician is the best at what they do. I will not tolerate substandard performance – even if I have to train each and every soldier to an acceptable level. Am I understood?"

"Sir, yes sir!" The woman saluted; he couldn't read her posture – it had been trained to respond too precisely for that – but a glimpse of teeth hinted at enthusiasm. He turned to Kaiden, who likewise held an unreadable position. After a moment, the lieutenant nodded.

"Right then, I'll contact Hackett. We need more live-fire missions if we'll beat the geth." He snagged the tablet back off the anvil once more, "Williams, firing range. I want each squad able to take a wing off a gnat at a hundred yards; you're targeting trainer and in charge of the Armory. Alenko, technical support. Show them how to overclock a shield emitter, jury-rig overload rounds, how to fix it afterwards, every trick in the trade."

Kaiden raised a hand, "Sir, you might want to get Tali, I mean, Specialist Tali'Zorah in on this. She's better than me in some aspects of electronic warfare."

It took only an instant for Shepard to see the sense of the idea. "Make it so. Williams, see if Garrus wants to help the snipers."

"And sir?" Ashley chimed in, "what about hand-to-hand?"

"Good thought." Shepard gave her a grin filled with teeth. A thought twisted through his mind; an old ditty about women and their best friends. Morbid humor, an ever present friend, came to his aid. "Diamonds may be forever, but so is a crippling injury."

The way she froze was highly amusing. He chuckled at the reaction before finally reading the tablet. Off to one side, Wrex had a wide grin on his face; gone by the time he paused to take a better look. He finally scanned the short notice.

 _Commander, please accept this small token of appreciation. What you have done, and will do, aids far more than you realize._

It was unsigned, but a faint overlay glimmered across its surface, visible almost only because of his visor. The design was distantly familiar, the mark of one of the major salarian clans. Shepard took a closer look, memorizing the shimmering pseudo-image; next time he had a chance, he'd go over the registry. Just to be sure, he took a picture with his omni-tool; given the salarian penchant for minutiae, the tiniest detail could mean the difference between radically opposed families.

The gift made no sense. _Past and future tenses; someone knows my record – possibly the restricted version. But future?_

A different thought came in, _Excalibur is one thing. Emrys has proven himself a colleague, I can work with him. Vaguely phrased gifts from unknown givers … from someone with enough power to sneak it on board a top secret warship? Whoever it is, obviously wants something._ That much was absolutely true. Had the _Normandy_ not been so advanced, the device would have increased its value half again. _Courting. Someone gives an extravagant gift, and expects something of equal value in return – something I should have expected when I accepted this gig._

 _Note to self: look up salarian gift protocols._

Manipulation made him ill. No, the very _thought_ of someone pulling strings made him grow angry. Ease of long practice helped him direct that anger in a productive manner. Dismissing Alenko and Williams took a few moments, and within minutes, he'd made his way to the communications room.

 _"Commander,"_ Hackett's familiar gravel voice emanated from the speakers. _"I presume this is an emergency?"_

"Yes and no, Admiral." Shepard scowled at the intake. Visual communication would have been better, but took up far more bandwidth; using voice only made for a more economical gesture. Politics, but a game he could play – sometimes. "My squads are green. Rusty. If we're going after Saren, they need more seasoning – particularly if the geth are going to be involved."

Hackett sounded pleased. _"Excellent idea, Shepard. I caught that as well; the geth appear to be … toying with us. Not a good sign."_

"Agreed." Shepard glanced at another notice. "On a side note, a salarian just delivered a bribe attempt."

The elder man's reaction carried through his tone. _"What?"_

"A rather expensive gift was pointed out to me a few minutes ago. Worth roughly five hundred million credits."

Dead silence met his statement. _"You have a – significant public,"_ Hackett finally managed.

Despite the lack of visual connection, Shepard raised one shoulder diffidently. "The highest bribe I've seen yet. Maybe a few come close if you include intrinsic value, but this one is certainly rather unsettling."

 _"Did they compromise you?"_ A note of concern entered Hackett's tone.

"No," for a moment, he wondered if the Admiral was worried about Shepard the man, or the loyal soldier of the Alliance. It was a reasonable thought … if one cared to ponder motives overly much. "The perpetrator obviously looked up my first occupation, and perhaps drew a conclusion from a few of my more public visits. They sent me a mini-smithy, one of the StarForge series, one of the latest models."

 _"Ah."_

"The disturbing aspect is that an unknown object, very possible to have been a weapon of mass destruction, was slipped aboard one of the most advanced warships in the galaxy." Shepard glanced around the room, belatedly realizing he'd failed to scan it once more. With the revelations the package had given, it was almost a guarantee the _Normandy_ was compromised in some way … unless he was being too paranoid? _No_. He activated the scan protocols.

 _"Good point."_ Hackett's tone shifted to a musing quality. If he'd been a betting man, Shepard would have wagered the admiral was stroking his chin, _"A message then?"_

"It's salarian," Shepard gave the unknown gift-giver an extensive series of turian hand motions. In some quarters, it was a language all of its own, but what he'd learned from the turian military adherents seemed mostly pejorative. "You can't understand them, not completely. It's a multi-level statement; proof they can get through, a sign of respect by the monetary value and physical size of the gift, a taunt that something that big made it through security …" he found a chair, and collapsed into it. "On the other hand, it could be a snare, a trick designed to get me in legal trouble. I'm not as fluent in salarian as I should be, but I'll know more later."

 _"Very good."_ Hackett approved. He changed the subject a moment later, _"Speaking of understanding, was the report correct? You didn't use a restraint collar on your asari prisoner?"_

Shepard felt his hackles rise. This was going to be a long conversation. "If you are referring to the pirate we captured a number of days ago, you are correct. I don't use slave collars. On anyone."

A sigh emanated from the speaker. _"Commander, there is a difference between what you do and what slavers do."_

He restrained an exhalation of his own, preparing for the lecture certain to follow. Some days it didn't pay to get out of bed.

* * *

 _3.37 hours later ..._

Shepard stood behind Joker's chair, staring out the window. The Relay network held intricate coding permissions, granting Council and military vessels priority, but even so there was a great deal of traffic. Streams of vessels cascaded through the Relay, using its acceleration sequence to hurl themselves across the galaxy, trusting ancient technology and forces no one understood fully.

He shifted focus, studying individual ships. A Volus cruise-liner, massive as a battleship with none of the defenses and all the luxuries its counterpart lacked. Salarian messenger ships bucked lines, making daring movements to move their cargoes just a few fractions of an hour faster. Quarian messenger ships kept up the pace; a much more common sight than the previous thirty years apparently. Access to chiral worlds under Alliance auspices had boosted the quarian economy beyond its previous two centuries; members of the Flotilla were often seen in Alliance space. Not exactly welcome, but not pushed away either, more than the Council had done. Progress, of a sort.

The sight of interstellar traffic was soothing, ordered chaos. Chaos was something the galaxy needed in greater supply; the ultimate complacency was death after all. Too much chaos however, was death as well; philosophically, any explosion could be defined as a situation where maximum chaos was achieved.

"Whoo, look at that one," Joker's nimble fingers highlighted an asari cruiser, ahead of them in queue. Vrolik's Syndrome made the pilot an effective prisoner of his chosen profession; once he sat in the custom-fitted chair, he did not rise until long after his shift was complete. The normal co-pilot – Shepard searched his memory, finding the name filed away in its depths – _Addison Chase_ , was in her usual position. Neither was aware of his presence; he was wearing soft-soled boots, and had taken care to proceed along the edges of the passage.

"Nice lines, but a little beat up," Addison responded. A different ship enlarged on the screen, this time a turian freighter. "Now that one has potential."

Joker laughed, "Whaddya talking about? No armor, and its shields are barely rated for outer edge Terminus."

He let the chatter wash over him, turning to retrace his steps. Confusion seemed rampant throughout the galaxy, chaos in its most basic form. After finishing his conversation with Admiral Hackett, he'd checked his mail, and discovered yet more discrepancies. The lawyers on retainer from Earth had been switched, and his account transferred to a new set of partners. Legally speaking, he should have been informed over a month in advance … but if he hadn't sent the forms Udina had given him, to triple check their validity, he would still be unaware of their removal.

Further checks indicated a simple service error, delaying the required notification by a month, if it ever reached him.

The other firm, based from the Citadel, had sent him a notice, regretfully conveying their condolences. His representative had apparently undergone too much stress, and chose to permanently remove the stain on his honor. 'Chewing a bullet,' as the old phrase went. Surprising; the last time they'd spoken, the woman had given the impression of being at the top of her game.

Strange.

Shepard took another turn along the passage, soundless in movement. He'd planned for difficulties, for issues to crop up. When one dealt in chaos for a living, only the insanely stupid failed to believe chaos would follow him home. A career such as his practically _guaranteed_ it.

Now, there was the Mindoir firm, his first choice and one supplied with the best the galaxy had to offer. By someone other than himself, of course. Fake identities were simple to facilitate, if you knew the right people.

Fortunately, the new representatives had done nothing major in the duration, except a number of legal papers he'd signed, regarding being a Spectre. Everything went past his omni-tool prior to approval.

He shook his head, reversing course past the CIC. Strictly speaking, Ambassador Udina held proxy approval, in case of long assignments; the Power of Attorney in legal terms. Again, only the criminally stupid would believe nothing important occurred without his presence. Udina had proven to be a friend of humanity, and secure with small tasks. Given the high-value projects running, he desperately required one man to approve legal ventures in his absence. Without it, his sometimes months-long absences would render hundreds of decisions useless, and waste literally billions of credits. So far, it had worked.

Things were catapulting ahead though, proceeding far apace. His own goals were modest, in comparison to the convoluted paths his contemporaries seemed to be taking. Using liquid capital as a measurement stick, Shepard ranked in the low regions – around the low-upper class. Granted, he owned more than entire colonies, but the measuring stick counted asari with more financial reserves than the entire Hanar Primacy. Hardware, however … he wielded power amongst the most potent of influences. Nanotechnology he owned was still proliferating at exponential rates. If he were honest with himself, the reserves he held were small, but had grown at rates surpassing all expectations. And he was the master of the most crucial aspects of its creation and development.

The Salarian Union had done very well with their early investments, and the asari had been right on their tail. He had personally benefited from both interests. The funds he had been charged with overseeing had grown, even if eclipsed by his own personal fortune.

Shepard rounded the turn, climbing out of the stairwell. _Enemies. Too many, and getting too deep._ When had he counted foes last? The top of his list right now had to be Balak, slaver and pirate chieftain. Or perhaps – no, Haliat was dead. Wasn't really much of a threat in the first place, although the nuke had shown potential … What about Saren? The man had sent hitmen for him _personally,_ how could he have forgotten?

…

…

 _Shoot_.

…

…

He needed to write this down; thinking was acceptable, but there came a point where contemplation was more harm than good, with no way to weed out bad ideas. The best place was back at his cabin, with its extended boards and high-powered computer systems. The Alliance still held on to the belief that independent systems segregated from omni-tools held key positions. Salarians scoffed at the idea – non-integrated systems added nothing to efficiency, even detracted in many cases.

Humans knew better than to connect every system like that, not just 'link' but hardwire every system into a massive fluctuating morass of potential consciousness. The quarians had learned that lesson too late, and still persisted in connecting everything.

Shepard headed back through his cabin, ignoring Garrus still hunched over the desk. The turian was a detective, an exceptionally good one if the records were correct.

Projectors hummed into life across the aft and starboard walls of Shepard's cabin. A simulated marker coalesced into his omni-tool hand, intangible, but 'felt' through the implants in his hand. _Time to get to work._

 _Spectre Saren,_ he wrote in large letters at the top of one screen. Hesitating a moment, he moved over to the next screen and wrote: _Matriarch Benezia._ The Council was able to throw accusations as they wished – within reason – but a humble investigator from another sovereign power needed to be more circumspect. Counting an individual as an enemy, one so powerful as to sway the Thirty, was political suicide; but there was no room for that in an objective analysis. Like any other investigation, the main task was to obtain as many facts as possible, then remove extraneous details.

It felt better, just having the two names down. Quickly, he divided each name into two columns, jotting down the names of major associates, expanding the columns as he worked. As words spread across the screens, the tingling sensation began niggling at the back of his mind. It was a familiar feeling, the thrill of scenting a trail others missed. The awareness of a hunt. He loved it.

 _Money trail: Therum, Noveria, Omega, Citadel, Palaven, Feros, nanotech._

The list grew, then shrank before growing again. Logic decreed Saren would have access to the nanotechnology money, but only through Matriarch Benezia; a different column. Feros was already under examination for financial irregularities; but the likelihood of ExoGeni giving up data on just the request of the IAC (3) fell between slim and fat. No, he'd have to visit himself.

Noveria was the same. While nominally independent, it had to comply with both Council and Alliance regulations – in part – in order to do business. Spectres held authority there as well; the curse of being beholden to none, yet subject to all.

 _Something is missing though,_ Shepard thought. _What is it_ … the silent room almost echoed his thoughts back at him, like the rebounding Chila beetle. _It's too quiet. Music._

"Computer," he waited until the acknowledging chirp answered, "Play some music, from playlist: Introspection. Random selection."

The room hummed softly, the sound fading as the room's audio seals engaged. Exposing his predilection for music wasn't a problem, but sharing it with the general public felt like a violation. Soon, the upbeat tempo started thudding in his ears, major chords falling into place. He smiled, allowing the action in the privacy of his own room, before resuming work.

His list expanded, rotating out of sight as the names grew. _Terrorist groups, can't forget those. If Saren was throwing money around, he could be also funding terrorist attacks ad nauseum. Remember to check with Wrex, he might have more information._

A thought struck him. _What was it Benezia said? Return of the …_ what _?_

Shepard sank to a chair, thinking furiously. _Saren was after the Beacon. The one downloaded into your head. Presumably, he also received the download … and is using it to do something with the … thingies._

"Computer, pause music," he spoke aloud. "Open file –"

"Oh, spirits thank you!" An unfamiliar flanged voice broke in.

Shepard spun, one hand deftly plucking a salarian-design assassin's knife from the wall. On the desk, Garrus tentatively lifted one hand from the side of his head, uncovering the tympanic membrane. "Is it over? Please tell me it's over."

For once, Shepard didn't have to pretend anything. "What are you talking about?"

"That hideous racket!" Garrus carefully uncovered the other side of his head. His sigh of relief seemed overly enthusiastic … turian humor almost always contained elements of stoicism.

"A joke, yes?"

The turian chuckled, "In part. What was that … I hesitate to call it that but ... music?"

Shepard blinked. "Polka. Steady rhythmic sequence in two-four time and a series of modulations in the repeats."

"Poe-kah," Garrus tried out the word. "Can't say I've heard much of that before."

Lifting one shoulder dismissively, Shepard returned to his work. "Computer: open file on Feros excavations. Sub-folder: exhuming research."

The responding beeps barely preceded the images projected on his wall. Skeletons, weird alien shapes … but strangely familiar. "There, image three dash five seven. Enhance."

Despite the room's temperature control, Shepard felt a cold chill penetrate. The picture on the wall grew; a flat, convex skull with four eye sockets, long empty. Sinusoid openings spread sideways well below the orbits but above where the maxillaries would be on a human. It gave the impression of gleeful malice, particularly with the canines involved.

Hands stretched upwards, but glowing yellow eyes devoid of hope. Memories, not his own, smashed against the barriers of Shepard's mind. _Fleeing civilians, inhuman joints bending against the mode, cries of terror. Too many to count, too many to hear. Millions of voices crying out for salvation. Nothing could be done._

Shepard broke free, brutally shoving the images back. But one last form, seared against his mind's eye, forced itself on him. _Reapers of the harvest, taking that which had been planted._

The obscene figure faded, leaving him to draw one shuddering breath after another. Shepard became aware of a taloned pressure on one arm.

"Shepard! Are you … " the hand dropped. "Thank the spirits, you're back."

It was a bit like travelling, Shepard had to agree. Whenever the Beacon data came to mind, it overwhelmed him, carrying him to a time not his own. But in this case … in this case, it helped with the present. "Computer, bring up the footage from Eden Prime. Same segment selected by Captain Anderson."

Part of his working field cleared itself for a video segment. The broadcast from Eden Prime appeared, frozen at the point where the massive skyscraper–ship had entered. It took only a brief moment for Shepard to compare the monstrosity to what kept appearing in his dreams. _That's it. A … Reaper. Saren isn't working for himself, he's found a bigger backer._

"Commander," Garrus's tone seemed exceptionally careful. "What, exactly, is that?"

Shepard studied the image. "That is Saren's ship. If the Beacon data is correct, it's a Reaper, one of the devices that destroyed the Protheans."

He didn't need to look back to know the turian's disbelief. "A … Reaper? You're saying Saren found a fifty thousand year old ship, and used it to sack Eden Prime for a Prothean Beacon?"

On the surface, it was a logical question. "Something as advanced as a Reaper needing Prothean technology now, seems pretty ridiculous. But, let's play a game: what do we know?"

He did manage to catch a shudder that ran across the turian's frame. At his questioning eyebrow, the turian offered a half-twitch of one mandible. "My father – used to use that phrase."

"Sounds like a good man." Shepard took the frame in which the Reaper was visible, and transferred it to a new document. "So far, we have identified Saren's flagship as a potential Reaper, either a lookalike or remnant of the force that destroyed the Protheans. We know that Saren began a financial empire roughly fifteen years ago, and gained the assistance of Matriarch Benezia about two years later. We also know Saren holds large percentages of Alliance businesses, and significant holdings in …" he tilted his head in a batarian gesture, "other places."

Garrus looked at the walls, covered in Shepard's handwriting. "You've done this often?"

"Now and again," he pasted the image of _Sovereign_ to the Saren file, and added a note; more data needed on Saren's flagship. "I am … somewhat … the equivalent of a Spectre in Alliance space."

"So I heard," the turian stepped forward, "mind if I add some?"

"Be my guest. I'll be back soon, have to check on the crew. And talk to Anderson."

The turian wrote a note on the board, humming approval. "Take your time."

* * *

Ironically, the rounds took little time. Ashley held position on the weapons deck, checking and double checking every modification. From what he could tell, she was giving envious looks at the 'gift' sitting to the left. Envy of an anvil; an interesting concept. Further down the side, the quarian squad had their armaments field-stripped, steadily working on the delicate innards. Their body language indicated he'd been seen, but understood to be casual. _At the rate they're going through the work, they'll have the entire company's loadout cleaned by third watch._ It made sense, in a way. He'd practically promised to train them to N7 levels … and they were working hard.

He took another path, down into engineering. Adams – easily recognizable with his placid voice and long fingers – gave him a casual salute. The three quarians on the engineering team also saluted, quivering in place until he dismissed them with a nod.

Tali'Zorah almost bounced up to him. "Shepard! Good to see you!" She activated her omni-tool, "The Admiralty sent approval for my posting to the _Normandy_. Not that they would have said no, but I have full approval and combat pay!"

"Good," Shepard wondered if his … chat … with a quarian admiral of the same name had made a difference. "Pay from the Flotilla, from the Alliance in your contract, and the deposits you've helped us find will be a decent amount when we're done."

The twin reflective points of light inside her helmet became even brighter. "Really? I mean – thank you! I was hoping that – that is to say, I didn't think you'd – never mind." She lunged forwards in a move worthy of a ninth tier Wardancer, 'glomping' him, to borrow his sister-in-law's term. "Thank you so much!"

Hesitantly, Shepard let his arms drop behind the little quarian's back. _Such a social people._ He'd seen the marines performing the same action on each other multiple times, in celebration or merely exuberant emotion. For himself though, a rather quiet individual, the experience was … overwhelmingly emotional. There had been no possibility to get away, she'd moved too fast … awkward, yet reminiscent of old memories. When was the last time he'd been on the receiving end of a hug? _Years since I played with the children._ _Do they still remember me?_

The sensation of cold metal straps and faux-leather on his hands jolted him out of reverie. _Holy guacamole, where are my hands?_ In one terrifying moment, clarity struck. They came off the small of her back as if it were red-hot. Muted chuckles from Adam's corner did nothing for regaining his composure.

Gently, he patted Tali's shoulder, disengaging with care. "You're one of my crew, Tali. Anything less would be dishonorable."

He caught the other quarians stealing looks at him, one giving him a polite nod. Apparently his behavior was appropriate; there hadn't been much interaction with naval elements in his tour. Quarian crews were fairly close-knit, and possessed the most gregarious natures he'd ever seen. It should have been obvious.

The route brought him back to the comm room. Wrex had been working on an omni-tool, and frowned on contact. Alenko on the other hand had been eager to talk. So much in fact that Shepard had barely enough time to finish the report.

 _Hope Anderson can use it._ The news about the Reaper sounded … fantastic. _Monsters from the depths of time, destroyers of civilization – here?_ Still, legendary terrors are legendary for a reason.

* * *

Citadel, Council Transmission Chamber

Councilors received extra benefits that few knew about, Anderson was coming to realize. Each Councilor had a private room, perfect for receiving petitions from their own people – and others. A personal chef, selected for trustworthiness and a background check that went back multiple generations. Direct access to budgets nominally under the control of peons further down the chain of command. Here on the Citadel, access to amenities rarely found – not least of which: space.

On a space station, room was wealth. The larger the room, the greater the financial reserves. Having vast open rooms on the Citadel was equivalent to displaying a full-immersion aquarium on a desert world. Udina seemed to thrive in the environment, making appropriate noises whenever needed, giving lust-filled looks at the furniture when being conveniently observed.

He hated it. It was so … dishonest. It made sense in a certain angle; shock and awe, minus the explosions.

One such optical detonation was sitting in front of him as he spoke. Ti'la Vanir, personal attendant to the Consort had been tasked with keeping him up to speed. Of course, she'd been more than willing to offer other … services. Some in which she was well-versed, going by her clothing.

That disgusted him.

Polite dismissals had been of no avail, leaving him no option but to watch Udina and the Councilors as closely as possible, avoiding her attempts to flirt by appearing too busy. It was made far easier now that Shepard was communicating with them. The report the Commander had sent was quite illuminating, speaking of Prothean ruins that survived volcanic eruptions with ease, of geth playing with their food, and a connection between Saren's flagship and the end of the Protheans.

Oh, and the asari doctor had been rescued. Almost a footnote after the extravaganza, but an important one.

Shepard's blue-hued image shimmered into being before the Councilors on the massive projector. They had invited Udina's presence in the first debriefing of a human Spectre. Anderson had been invited by Udina to both tweak the Councilor's attitude problem, and for his extensive working relationship with Shepard. Just because the Council had rejected him as a Spectre candidate didn't mean the Alliance mistrusted him.

Personally, Anderson would have preferred to be anywhere but with the Council. He had a strong suspicion what they were about to do; the sinking feeling in his gut all but confirming it, his 'trouble sense,' Shepard had called it.

No, Shepard. He was going to be upset. Irate. Beyond furious.

 _"Councilors. Captain. Ambassador."_ The normally erudite commander was remarkably taciturn today.

"Commander," Sparatus nodded a friendly greeting. "Excellent work at Therum. Your men are well?"

 _"Better,"_ the ghostly image responded. _"Some room for improvement, but they show promise."_

"Yes, very good." Tevos interrupted; her attention was fully focused on Shepard; Anderson could tell. Whether the distant Commander was cognizant of the fact remained debatable. "And Doctor T'Soni?"

 _"Dehydrated, but fine."_ Shepard raised one hand, the glowing sparkle of his omni-tool emanating through the link. _"My chief medical officer has a report prepared. Doctor T'Soni has suffered no great harm, and managed to retain most of her research materials. She should be active again in a few days. Fast recovery time, I am told."_

Anderson snorted. By asari standards, 'a few days' was incredible speed – considering the situation she'd been discovered in. For a human, the phrase 'malingering' would have been used. Of course, the average asari wouldn't have survived, he grudgingly admitted to himself. _Above normal then._

 _"If I may direct your attention to some of the research,"_ Shepard continued, _"My investigation has noted a few points of interest."_

"Of course," Valern agreed, "Please, give us an overview."

 _"Threat assessment."_ Shepard appeared to not see the politely resistant looks. _"It's worse than I thought. Saren's financial holdings are much, much larger than anticipated."_ A chart appeared next to Shepard's figure, names and numbers scrolling upwards at a blinding rate. _"He has investments ranging from Alliance pharmaceuticals to brothels in the Terminus. Matriarch Benezia has … apparently … been assisting with financial advice, and by these numbers –"_ the list slowed, highlighting two columns, _"accounts over three centuries old are being used."_

"Are you certain, Commander?" Tevos had a wide-eyed look, one almost begging for help, yet somehow regal enough to deter casual aid.

The ease with which she'd assumed the expression rang warning bells to Anderson's trained eye. The asari Councilor's performance was … over the top. One advantage humans held over their asari counterparts included a significantly higher motion-attentive eye structure. While the asari could see further, and in more wavelengths than humans, the average human – like quarians – could detect microscopic muscle twitches, subconsciously at least.

Anderson knew himself to be far above average.

 _"It's true."_ Shepard's voice fell, dull tones. _"Based on this, I would recommend sending as many assets after Saren as possible. He has enough resources in Council Space to raise an army. In addition, Saren's flagship – the so called 'Sovereign,' bears a striking resemblance to designs located in Prothean archive references. To their killers, the Reapers."_

"A valid point," Valern interjected. "Which must be discussed further. However, there are more topics we must cover prior to that point." A different screen appeared next to his hand, "Commander, the _Normandy_ was co-designed between salarian and human engineers, with turian consultants. You further increased the diversity by bringing quarians aboard. In the hunt for Saren, have you noticed any shortcomings in the designs?"

Anderson rolled his eyes, secure in the knowledge that no one was looking his way. Valern had been one of the clan leaders in charge of ensuring the Normandy was constructed with salarian oversight. The turians had lobbied hard, but ultimately capitulated, in exchange for certain caveats.

Bringing the topic up in a meeting such as this was logical, but detracted from Shepard's points. His eyes narrowed; had Tevos just relaxed? Her shoulders had dropped a fraction … why?

 _"They are in my reports. One glaring oversight is the limited facilities; one pair of grouped showers on the action deck, and a small set of restrooms on the crew deck."_ Shepard made a valiant attempt to redirect the conversation, _"Returning to the Reapers,"_

"Your report will cover the subject thoroughly, I am certain." Valern shot him down again. "Now, pertaining to future activities, has your experience during the probationary Spectre status accomplished your goals?"

Anderson sat back, relaxing just a little. They hadn't gone into how Shepard had gained the knowledge of the Prothean demise … and were proceeding circumspectly. Perhaps too carefully. The image of Shepard was relaxing as well; something he never did in an official briefing. _He knows something is up. Lord, let him not kill anyone, please._

"The selection process determined you are unattached, is this correct?" Tevos tapped her device, causing the page to flicker. Anderson could see a small insert on the new page, the face of a smiling asari that looked remarkably similar to … Liara T'Soni … who was on the _Normandy_.

Slowly, feeling the weight of the galaxy on his shoulders, Anderson closed his eyes. The last time someone had angered Shepard to the point he feared was coming, Torfan had been the public result. There had been other … incidents, but the majority were limited to the Terminus Systems. It was there the Commander had proven worthy of the sobriquet _Nar'Sheth_. While colorful, the translation failed to grant the full depth of meaning encapsulated by the word.

Shaking his head, Anderson returned to the present, just in time to see Tevos giving Shepard a brilliant, seductive smile. _Hellfire_.

"Well then, it is fortunate for the both of us," she said. She straightened. "I, Matriarch Ceto Tevos, as acting regent for the T'Soni line, officially invite you, Commander Karl Shepard, to join with the Ancient Line of T'Soni."

Silence filled the chamber, a dark formless void shaping itself around the participants. Shepard failed to respond, blinking at the asari Councilor. Nothing moved; no one willing to draw attention to themselves. Anderson felt a small burst of humor – perhaps the councilors knew the danger of their efforts on a subconscious level? The Commander was a master of that style of intimidation. Body language had become an art form to him.

Tevos smiled again, perhaps taking the silence as overwhelmed appreciation. "Your Ambassador Udina, as he holds the power of attorney during your absence, has very graciously given terms acceptable for such a match. You will be able to help both our peoples by establishing a close relationship with Doctor T'Soni. Anything further is, of course, your decision, but I hope the two of you will see your way clear to establishing a high-profile example of what the greatest of our respective races are capable of doing."

Shepard's face was purely blank; the eyes looked at Udina, then Anderson for the briefest of moments. In that moment, the entire expression shifted. Anger, frustration … worst of all, _betrayal_.

 _Lord help us all._ Anderson closed his eyes in prayer. Then he opened them, hastily getting up and almost bowling over Vanir to the Ambassador quarters; more specifically, to the military-grade communicator there. Someone had to do damage control … and perhaps, beg forgiveness.

* * *

 _Normandy_ SR-1

Communications Room

Anderson vanished from the scene, brushing past an asari that had looked as if she'd been trying to stop him. Most of the other speakers were present, but he had left. Deep inside, Shepard felt a small amount of regret; but was it for himself, the Captain, or the loss? Emotions were confusing.

 _"Your people are known for their reticence to join the rest of the galaxy as members of the Council Systems,"_ Tevos continued, ignoring the drama behind. _"Contracting a union between one of our own people and someone of renown in the Alliance would go great lengths to calming any fears."_

Udina snorted, jumping in to Shepard's surprise; the feeling of betrayal he'd felt when Tevos had referenced the Power of Attorney mixed. _In retrospect, giving a politician that much power had been short-sighted, but necessary._ And also a matter he should consider at a much later time.

 _"What does the Alliance get out of this?"_ Udina fired at the Councilor, _"Only the Council reaps the benefit of such an exchange. All the Alliance receives, is a minor foothold in asari politics, while the Council gains influence within major Alliance military structures!"_

Shepard couldn't believe his ears. _It's like they don't think I have an opinion?_ He watched the turian councilor stare at him for a moment, then return to the debate between the others and Udina. _No ... they ... they actually don't think I do. Turians never question orders, and that means Sparatus doesn't expect me to disagree._ His gaze shifted to Valern. The salarian kept up a rapid-fire discussion with both Tevos and Sparatus, while simultaneously looking bored. _From what we know about Salarian culture, they consider arranged marriages normal; as if they don't have the capacity_ _for a_ _normal marriage –_ and this one particularly advantageous for some reason. _But Tevos?_ He watched Councilor Tevos speak, gracefully rebutting Udina's points, not just verbally, but physically altering her stance on each topic. _Ah. That's it, hubris. The asari have thousands of years on humanity for galactic policy, and it doesn't hurt that they believe themselves irresistible. Plus,_ he frowned to himself, _they've been reproducing with salarians for who knows how many years. Some of that contract idea has to have rubbed off._

 _"I may agree, if the modification to Shepard's status as a Spectre is made after the partnership is formally acknowledged_ _,_ _"_ Tevos said. She finished her speech by giving a small bow to Udina while tilting her arm slightly in acknowledgement of her colleagues. Very sneaky. If she'd added blueberries to it, she'd make a smoothie.

 _"Then it's settled,"_ Councilor Valern nodded firmly turning to Shepard, _"You will announce your commitment to Doctor T'Soni, after she finishes recovering."_ His colleagues made affirming noises, particularly Tevos. Shepard didn't like the particular glint in her eye, it said far too much about her interest in the matter.

Even Councilor Udina, perennial naysayer to the Council had a satisfied expression. _That's not good. Not good at all. He's actually going to try to force me ... he wouldn't ..._ The human ambassador caught his eye, and gave him a slight nod, sending a familiar emotion into his soul. _No_.

Shepard saw red. The usual brief moment of mental discipline failed to make it dissipate, driving the rage deeper. Desperately trying to avoid violence, he twisted sideways to the Council, not bothering to watch their reactions. Fierce concentration, honed over a lifetime of practiced control kept his voice even while he delivered his verdict.

"Go. To. Hell."

He finished the spin, letting his military boots measure the short distance to the Comm room's exit in ringing steps. Behind, confused muttering broke out just before the link shut down. _Apparently, they don't expect disobedience_ , Shepard thought. _Too bad. They didn't listen to me about Reapers, or Geth, or Saren. I won't listen to them on some misbegotten attempt at—_

 _"Commander Shepard? Anderson is on the line … he wants to talk to you right now,"_ Joker's voice came over the intercom. He sounded almost subdued.

"I'm on my way to my quarters. Tell him I don't have time right now," Shepard snapped. His steps turned towards the elevator.

 _"Ah, Shepard, he said to tell you …"_ the gulp transmitted over the intercom, _"um, that 'Shanxi was hard, Saren was harder, but this is the hardest thing he's had to do yet.' Um, unquote."_

Shepard stopped in front of the elevator. The doors opened invitingly, beckoning him to the soft darkness and the sweet embrace of oblivion in his own bed. _I trusted Anderson, risked my life for him just because he's … Anderson. How could he betray me? He owes me better than this …_ The doors closed with their faint hum, clicking shut. It sounded like the shears of fate, snipping another thread of life, just outside his grasp. _And … I owe him, too? Enough to overlook betrayal?_

He pondered the doors for a moment more. _It always comes down to what we do with the choices we're given. One door closes, another opens … do I trust Anderson enough to give him another chance to hurt me?_ Deep down, he already knew the answer.

"Fine," Shepard sighed, "Just … do me a favor. If the Council starts calling again, don't tell Garrus, and hang up on them. All right?"

Joker's chuckle made the intercom resonate, _"Gotcha Shepard. Telemarketers on a higher level, right?"_

Shepard pushed back into the comm room. At the far end stood a hologram of Captain Anderson, facing away from the door. He didn't move while the door hissed, or when Shepard approached.

"Joker said you wanted to see me, sir?" Shepard asked politely.

The hologram turned to face him. Shepard almost took a step back. Anderson's familiar face, one he'd just seen less than four weeks previously, one of the few he still recognized, now had dark circles under the eyes. His shoulders bowed like the weight of entire solar systems burdened his back.

 _"Shepard, thank you for seeing me. I know it had to have been a difficult decision."_ Anderson tried to smile, but it never made reached his eyes.

"You've done a lot for me, Anderson. Yes, I am … hurt?" He rolled the unfamiliar sensation around his tongue, trying to understand it better, but it still felt wrong. He tried again, in a stronger voice this time. "I'm hurt, Anderson," he felt a glimmer of satisfaction when Anderson winced. Shepard clenched his jaw, trying to dispel any further sign of weakness. "I'm hoping you had a very good reason for what you just did."

The older man sank to an invisible chair. His head sank in one hand. _"It's been a long couple of months._ _"_ He looked up at Shepard, weariness evident in every move. _"I stalled them for weeks, you know. Played every card I had left, burned a lot of favors."_ He snorted, _"In the end, it didn't matter. I even called in Admiral Hackett, had him send you on a few emergency missions. He will have a few 'high priority' ready for you inside a few days … I'd hoped they would forget this crazy idea. That they'd choose someone else."_ His head sank lower, _"They wouldn't listen, Tevos especially. The only thing that mattered to them was having a celebrity human matched with one of their damned asari lines."_

Shepard pulled one of the chairs to the front of his mentor and sat. _What do I say?_ He closed his eyes, feeling the _Normandy's_ engine hum gently. The vibrations felt soothing to his tired feet. "I never imagined myself getting married, Anderson," he caught the other mans' eye, trying to convey the sincerity of his words. "You know that's what they want. I'm a soldier, but my brother became a businessman back on Mindoir …."

He examined his boots for a moment, imagining the life his brother had built for himself. Without his big brother. "He's done an admirable job of carrying on the family line, even if it's under a different name … six kids, with another on the way." He shook his head, "I came out here to stop the same thing that destroyed my home. From letting anyone do it again. Slavers, raiders, rogue human test groups," he slashed his hand through the air; "I stopped as many of them as I could … and did it well."

"Now … I got lucky on Elysium. Even luckier than people think. _You_ know how close I came to joining the Long Patrol."

Shepard guessed Anderson had sunk to his usual listening pose, more out of habit than anything else. He still had a gaunt expression, but the listless depth had vanished. _"I know, Shepard. You're a private man, I've always respected that. More than that, it's one of the reasons why the Alliance admires you, why Elysium has statues of you, ready to put up the moment they get permission. You don't let people know when you hurt … that makes them think you cannot be hurt."_ The captain gave Shepard an evaluating look, _"I think I know why you're so opposed to the idea. But can you say it out loud? Can you_ hear _yourself say it?"_

Shepard paused, considering. "First of all, they're asking me to go to that injured person in the medical bay, who doesn't know me from Adam, and tell her that her _regent_ just sold her off; wants us engaged to be married." He stood up, flinging his hands in the air, "Who is this Liara T'soni? And if she's so important, why is she so far from her people?"

The gray steel bounced his voice back in a minute echo, "Second of all, even if _I_ were to accept this, there is no guarantee _she_ would." He swung back towards Anderson with an expression that would have scared a krogan. "There is no power in the stars above or in the earth below that would compel me to force an unwilling woman to marry me." Unthinking, he adopted one of the old intimidation tactics, gliding towards Andersons' hologram without a sound. "The first person to suggest I do something like that, be it galactic leader or garbage scow cleaner, will receive a present from me. In between the eyes. At maximum velocity."

"Third and most importantly," Shepard imitated one of his bullets, staring Anderson directly in the eye. "I will submit myself to no one else's will. I will not be a slave. _Ever_."

 _"You submitted yourself to Alliance Command by becoming a soldier, you know."_ Anderson shrugged at Shepard's glare, _"It's what Udina will say, and you know it."_

"That was completely different, and _he_ knows it." Shepard paced to the back wall, "I willingly gave myself to the Alliance military. I allowed them to discipline my body, teach my mind," he raised his hands, "I used to make decorative plates for newlyweds with these hands. These hands once turned blocks of metal into ancient weapons for museums, very difficult to do, you know." He lowered his arms, "Now, they know how to kill. How to grant a reprieve for those who cannot defend themselves. Because I allow it. No one controls me but myself."

Anderson tilted his head thoughtfully, _"You mean, the Council is not a legitimate authority to whom you acknowledge fealty?"_

"The Council is a waste of my time. They've wanted Humanity to become a vassal race, subservient to their laws for decades. They have reason for doing so, longevity being chief among them, but give up our freedom? Lick their boots like a well-trained bloodhound?" Shepard shook his head, "We're not some mindless krogan, or ambitious ammonia-breathers. We have our own fleets, judge ourselves by our own standards, and give aid to anyone who will receive it, by our measurements."

Anderson leaned back in his chair, _"Yet, we're facing a new threat. One that you above all people should know we cannot face it on our own. I read your report, and I know your theories. By ourselves, we'd hold off the Reapers for a while, maybe even beat them a few times. But you know we're not as advanced as the Protheans, and they lost their war long before we knew they existed. Without the Council Races, the Alliance will die as surely as you're standing there."_

"Don't you think I know that?" Shepard ran his hands through his hair, hunching slightly. _Wish I had my rifle … no. I have to be able to calm down without it. Calm, Shepard. Easy does it, if they catch you, they'll turn you into something you hate._ Straining himself, he forced the monsters in his mind to recede, "I dream about Reapers every night. Every. Night. What they did to the Protheans is burned into my head so firmly I sometimes forget I'm human, and I feel nothing but anger, fear, _rage_ towards the Reapers. Doubly so for anything that gets in my way."

 _"Then you know we will have to patch things up with the Council, somehow."_ Anderson had a glacier calm; Shepard knew that tone. It meant a time for decisions had arrived. _"Shepard, no one will force you to do anything against your will. That is one of the foundational rights in the Alliance Charter. That said, you know we sometimes have to consider the needs of the many, over the needs of the few."_

Anger lashed at Shepard's thoughts, seductive in its simplicity. "I don't have much I need, Captain. What I eat, I earn. Where I sleep, I don't care. Until you brought me on board the _Normandy,_ no one answered to me for life, and I answer to no one but those I choose. I do have morals, and I will not break them for the sake of idiots that can't count to twelve with both hands and feet!"

The sound of a hissing door lock cut into Shepard's speech. Since he couldn't feel any change in atmosphere, it had to have been on Anderson's side.

 _"Anderson, that was a brilliant – is that Shepard? Shepard!"_ a holographic representation of Ambassador Udina appeared behind Anderson. He moved swiftly in front of Anderson, intent on reaching Shepard, _"That was an incredibly canny move Shepard! The Council is having fits! There's no telling what concessions we could win –"_ he turned a worried eye to Anderson, _"He's still refusing, isn't he?"_

Anderson raised an eyebrow at the ambassador. Shepard was glad he could tell that much from the older man. _"He was just giving me his reasons for refusing, ambassador."_

 _"Well, that can wait. We need to go over potential benefits, if you don't mind, Shepard?"_ Udina reached for the control.

"Not at all." Shepard met Anderson's gaze, letting every ounce of betrayal he felt make itself known. "We're done here."

As Anderson winced, Shepard knew his more hidden meaning had been heard, even if Udina had not. _No one controls me. Not Batarian slavers, not jumped up drill sergeants ... no one._ The hologram went out as Udina terminated the call.

He stared at the deactivated terminal. One of its lights flared, then faded into darkness, taking his energy with it.

 _I'll have to keep her here for now, that much is clear. The Council wants me to marry her immediately – or something. Handfasting maybe? Either way, it will not happen._ He walked back out of the room, once more headed to his private cabin. Old thoughts, some he hadn't allowed to see the light of day surfaced gently. _Sometimes I've wondered, what it would be like. To have a girlfriend again, perhaps a wife someday._

The door chimed, letting him in. Idly, he noticed Garrus had left, leaving a neat stack of notepads on the desk and an orderly chart on the board. The cabins' stark appearance brought him back to reality. _Forget it. I have a target on my back as big as the Citadel, nightmares I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy, and more than a passing talent for violence. No one deserves to share such a life. No one would want to, once she finally understood the implications. Deal with it._

He moved back to the drawing board, activating the electronic marker application. _Twenty colonists, three from Mindoir. Five thousand rescued in less than fifteen years; this should be simple. Get back to work Shepard, get back to work._

* * *

(1) _Da'Kazuut:_ Literal translation: Living container of excrement. Considered an exceedingly foul term among quarians.

(2) _Rila'Keel:_ Literal translation: Home of the body; not the actual homeworld of Rannoch, but likely referring to quarian colonies or stations.

(3) IAC: Inter-galactic Auditor Committee

* * *

 **A/N: Hey all, good to see you. Parts of this chapter were written over a year ago, worked on for the entire duration. That last segment, for example was given some help by suggestions from Dracco and thepkrmgc. Nightstride did his usual stellar work on beta'ing; any mistakes seen are mine. Also, thanks to F13D for his suggestions, really helpful!**

 **Story suggestion: _Dancer in the Dark_ by ElectricZ (StoryID: 12062078). He has some other - _fantastic -_ stories, but you'll find them with this one.**

 **One more note: I'm making Codex entries for as many species as I can, including a version of Biotic analysis. While I admire the works I've seen, it is my humble opinion that the information could be more logically published. And in a lot more scientific manner; fewer colloquialisms for example. My question to you: post, or don't post them?**

 **Like? Dislike? Review! Your comments help shape the story ... even if it takes me over a year to incorporate them. Usually. I do this for free, after all.**

 **See ya down the lane!**


	13. Out of Sight

_Tangen_ _t: a straight line or plane that touches a curve or curved surface at a point, but if extended does not cross it at that point. Definition from the GalaxyBook Encyclopedia. A useful definition, and it certainly captures the means by which Shepard operated; while others saw a mess, he saw opportunity._

 _Shepard had a knack for finding little niggling details, pardon my Turian. He tugged on them, and metaphorically caused the clothing of the powerful to become ... ragged. It was one of his great gifts, and his curse. He made enemies by noticing those things, and friends for the same reason. It made him a good agent, a great soldier, and a better man. Now, getting people to agree ... that was another story._

 _Excerpt: The Story of Shepard, by Dr. Pavenmeyer_

* * *

 _Normandy SR-1_

Captain's Cabin

Surprisingly, he'd been able to sleep. There was something about letting out the anger that helped settle the emotional turmoil … even if temporary. Now that he was awake though, there were things to do: letters to write, permissions to revoke, and an altered mission plan.

 _First things first._ A writing application on the cabin's computer became the highest priority, more so than a shower. That allowed him to revoke Udina's Power of Attorney; sending a separate draft to each legal consultant, followed by requests for information on every directive Udina had sent. It was precious time he had to spend, well-worth the investment, but loss all the same.

Setting the letters together helped; copy/pasting forms always helped. It was better to act sooner, than let the bad business fester; but the entire process took less than thirty minutes. _How to proceed …?_ he pondered the question. The incoming message indicator flashed, as if in answer. Shepard gave the tactile surface a swipe, noting the random arrangement of characters in the return address, disposable … except for a single word in the Subject line: _Emrys_. The message contained a single hyperlink, along with two words: _Good luck._

Another quick swipe of his finger copied the link into a new extranet browser. The _Normandy_ had a priority connection by virtue of both the Council and Alliance agreements, which meant despite his proximity to the proverbial backwaters, he could access the Extranet communication Buoys. So long as he could reach one of the buoys, his connections could travel with a velocity rivaling that of the Council itself.

Media headlines caught his attention, in a triple digit font size, and a movie screen display.

 _T'Soni Line Engaged to Human Hero! Details p.13 Social_ – a publication called _True Blue_

He winced. _So much for keeping the entire idea out of everyone's mind._ The next headline, in even larger letters, seemed a tad more obsequious:

 _Famed Regent Tevos Secures Worthy Match for T'Soni Family_

Shepard frowned. _The Republic Reports_ ostensibly served as a financial news source. That was not good, not good at all. The following headlines were even worse:

 _Asari Pureblood Attempts to Raise Standing!_ Some an asari social rag.

 _Economic Turmoil; Nano-technology Market on the Rise, Will Shepard Sell Out?_ From _Forbes 5000_ , Earth.

 _Shepard Engaged!_

Shepard's eyes bugged at the last title; an actual moving headline from a digital news blurb from Mindoir. How had everyone known but himself? Or rather, how had everyone gotten the information – he tightened his grip. _Udina. That slimy son-of-a –_ … polycarbonate construct fractured in his grip. Hissing in pain, he released the computer screen. The once clean surface now held a spider web of cracked material and blood. The shock of pain brought clarity, but in a tactical, rather than strategic, sense.

Perhaps, when he had time, he'd look up exactly who Dr. T'Soni was. Certainly before he had that still-delayed chat.

Sighing, he methodically removed the few pieces that had punctured his hand – painful but not deep – and applied a synthetic skin bandage. Then, he took the ruined monitor down to Engineering.

The busy sound of the department was audible from the elevator, which was Shepard's normal transportation of choice now that he had to appear more … formal. Even from just outside the doors, he could hear the babble – discussing something far beyond his ken. To know the universe wasn't so easily understood meant others had difficulty comprehending as well. That … was heartening.

He entered, pausing by the door. Inside, the actions closely matched the sounds he'd heard. Adams, recognizable by both insignia and attitude, was directing two engineers in a part replacement. Tali skittered around them with the consummate grace of a professional. Despite the activity, Adams soon noticed the commander, and held up one hand, the universal gesture to wait.

Shepard nodded, relaxing. Acting-Captains may command the ship, but the Engineer held its heart. In the engine room, it was understood that while the Captain was responsible, the Chief was in command.

Adams was soon examining the monitor, clucking at the damage. Like most engineers he'd met, the man seemed irritated at the apparently trivial request, but professional enough to hide it. "Shouldn't be a problem, Commander. I'll send up a replacement in a few minutes."

"Thank you," Shepard glanced at the other engineers, still struggling to lift the panel in place. "The new engineer working out for you down here?"

The other man's voice turned upwards, rising as his mood improved, "You sure know how to pick 'em. That Tali is an exceptional worker. Not as familiar with Spec-C programming as I'd like, but she more than makes up for it with versatility. Helped us decode that old asari satellite we picked up the other day; some kind of time capsule we think. Learns fast, too. Wouldn't be surprised if she could take my job in a year or two."

"Good," Shepard changed his focus, noting a certain turian detective lounging over a keyboard. "And Garrus?"

Adams nodded, "Research, he needed access to some of the faster processors. Something he came up with a little while ago."

"Ah," Shepard nodded once, "I'll just wander over then, see how he's doing."

"A'right." Adams turned away, already focusing on the next issue. Shepard understood it to be efficiency, not rudeness. Another feature many engineers shared.

Garrus noticed Shepard's approach and held up a single finger. Shepard waited, watching the turian finish entering a search term through the haptic interface. He'd never realized it before, but Garrus's hands were partially gloved. Only minute bulges in the fabric indicated the covering's presence as more than simple style. With his sensitive hearing, Shepard could discern their faint, changing vibrations, altering as the hands danced.

"Commander, glad you're here," Garrus halted his motions at last. "I went ahead with your suggestion, and ran a search. Well, a few searches. More than a few." Shepard leaned against the desk, folding his arms. "Actually had to call in a few favors as well," Garrus continued, eyes glued to the screen. "A trader I cleared of contraband charges a few months ago, and a couple cross-species training officers I worked with a number before then. They had contacts, and talked to them for me."

Shepard blinked once, still waiting. A good detective knew when to elaborate; therefore this was a backstory relevant to the point. "They got back to me." Garrus said, twisting in the chair, facing Shepard. "Benezia's money has been going all throughout Alliance Space, from the Horse Head Nebula to Artemis Tau. Navigator Pressley's results – once I cross-referenced them – gave me leads in Earth space."

"That makes sense though," Shepard interrupted. "The T'Soni's have a massive financial empire. I'd be surprised if you didn't trace it through Alliance Space."

Garrus flicked a talon against the screen. "That's just it; the markers don't come from the T'Soni line, not directly." The digital view shifted, becoming a miniaturized model of the common traffic lanes, "The money trail goes back to Hegemony space, and vanishes there. But the packing materials, seals and handwriting all match T'Soni interests. The money used to ship them, has to be T'Soni's, or a close affiliate."

For close to a minute, Shepard stared at the representation. Verdant lines crisscrossed the map's breadth, intersecting at populated nebulae in a crazed web. Finances enabled the existence of high society, but also left trails, no matter how sophisticated the erasure methods. He rested his head on one palm, supporting its weight. Confusion, that unwelcome sensation, was predominant in his thoughts. "I'm sorry, but did you say there is no money trail, or that you found a money trail?"

A heavy sigh responded. "Sorry, Commander. I wasn't being clear." Garrus took a breath, fluttering his mandibles. "There are no direct transactions between Benezia and what I've been hunting, no. But – there are crates with the T'Soni logos going in and out of Alliance space, and financial transactions accompanying those crates."

"Ah." Shepard rubbed his forehead, "So the product is there, but its money trail goes nowhere? Where did the product come from?"

"Nanotech shipments, food deliveries, quite a few monetary dumps." the detective's eye-ridges lowered. "Actually, there's been a lot of shipments that I'd associate with elite military deployments. Hacking equipment, communication devices, non-traceable credits … if it weren't for the fact that I was finding them with a lot of other stuff, I'd call them supply caches. No, wait … they _are_ caches."

Shepard grew still, thinking. Less than two weeks previously, what felt like ages now, he'd received Emrys's message – but only now was it making sense. Pulling up the omni-tool, he scanned back to what he'd transcribed. Self-deleting messages worked only for removing data trails; deletion did nothing for memory. Quickly finding the message, he highlighted the reference.

 _We still need to follow up on the Furies progress. ExoGeni and Sirta are making some strange moves: bio-analysis teams to Feros, a rather unusual Stalking Horse gambit for a salarian research firm; I can do only so much from here. Also, three CFO's have undergone serious accidents. One or two is interesting, but three in the same week? No coincidence._

 _Furies_ was a code word for Asari commandoes with undetermined goals. Most armed parties allowed within Alliance space to oversee Republic interests carried specific orders known to top-level military command, if they wished to resupply from Council reserves. These had not carried such licenses, yet seemed to never run out of resources. His voice grew more intent, "Are you certain about this? Very certain?"

"I know I'm right," Garrus's tridactyl hands flew over the keys. "That's why I needed to use the computer down here; it's fast enough to crunch the numbers I need. What I have from the Council side matches what Alliance reports are telling me. You couldn't trace the supplies because it came through Hegemony space, a batarian from the Lengua clan that works with the T'Soni family. No Council origin for Alliance sniffers to pick up, and enough backtrail to look legitimate. The only way I found it was because Saren's money trails use the same pattern."

Shepard punched the wall behind the desk. Hard. "Saren and – these people – are using the same methods? Separate parties?"

"Yeah," Garrus scanned the charts popping up on his screens. "Combined with a few other data streams. Lot of Cord-Hislop transactions in the Traverse do the same thing, but that's just safety out there. Hegemony space is just close enough to the Traverse to not raise any red flags on the normal scans, but far enough away to not really need it."

Shepard felt a vicious grin spread across his face. "Good work Garrus. Get it back to Pressley. I'll see if I can encourage the brass to let me hit those stockpiles."

There was one Admiral that could help; Mikaelovich would know. Omega Freedom, once known in fiction as the Fifth Freedom could be obtained … but very rarely. Perhaps this was the time.

* * *

 _Normandy_ _SR-1_

Comm. room

The voice of experience flowed through the room's speakers, a gravelly tone and irritated manner. This wasn't the first time it had attempted to rebut his goal … and he had a feeling it wouldn't be the last. _"Commander, are you sure you want to go through with this?"_

Shepard faced the Admiral, arms folded, feet spread. Blunt words worked best with this one. "One hundred percent. The Council gave me what is essentially a _carte blanche_ for the Terminus Systems, and nearly that for the Attican Traverse; I would stake my life on the fact that it will be needed. If the Alliance doesn't step up as well, Saren could very well hide where Council authority doesn't reach."

Mikaelovich, the man Shepard knew to be in charge of Hackett's Fifth Fleet scouting arm, shook his head slowly. _"Omega Freedom is a risky contention, Commander. No one has received it for more than one mission."_

"Problem solved. My mission is to take down Saren."

An irritated tone passed through the admiral's body language, gone in an eyeblink. _"The longest duration for that protocol was two weeks three days and five hours. Since the one holding that particular record was Captain Anderson, you should know that."_

The name brought up conflicting emotions for Shepard, but he kept it from showing. He wasn't sure how he felt; betrayed ranked very high on the list, followed closely by confusion and understanding. If he'd been in Anderson's shoes, would he have done something differently? The thought almost fell under its own weight. Considering the subject matter, there wasn't much room for argument. _Of course I'd have acted differently._

"The request stands." He straightened his back, "I have more successful missions under my belt than any operative in Alliance history. You know my record, both the public and private. The Council will trust me, why won't you?"

The image sighed, passing a hand over its eyes. _"It's not trust, Shepard. If it were just you, I would have pushed for this years ago. What I fear, is precedent. You are trustworthy Commander. Will your replacement be equally worthy?"_

Trust was very much the issue, but Shepard failed to reiterate the point; Rear Admiral Mikaelovich was to have received the _Normandy_ as a part of his task force, the 63rd Scout Flotilla. Shepard also very much doubted what Mikaelovich knew of his … other … activities. There were times he wondered, but no requests had been made, just a knowing statement now and again. _Focus_.

"Bottom line, Admiral. You and I both know the Alliance can't afford to look the other way. You are one of the few who know about the Protocol. I may have to take down many, many men to bring down Saren; his resources were vast to begin with. Now that he has geth, he has resources of an entire empire at his disposal." He leaned his weight forwards, attempting to convey the intensity of the situation without words. "I need every edge I can get; I'm just one man, and he has an army."

The other man inhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose. He wasn't as unlikable as he could have been, just overly focused on regulations. Mikaelovich's eagerness for enforcing Alliance law in the Outer Colonies was legendary – which idealistically put him at odds with a solid quarter of the total Alliance population, Shepard included.

Still, the man was useful. If aimed properly, very few stood in his way – morals of manipulation aside.

Mikaelovich gave an exasperated sigh, still gripping his sinuses. _"You are not giving me many options, Commander."_

"That's my job Admiral," he watched the flickering image's movements, "Reducing options is the entire reason why I'm here." The transparent jawline tightened, denoting the masseters were clenched; a common trait for stress.

 _A definite twitch. Suspicion confirmed_ ; Mikaelovich had an almost pathological fear of losing control, suggested particularly by how he operated portions of the Alliance navy. His written reports read like a sandblaster, full of scathing comments and heavily worded 'suggestions' about returning the _Normandy_ to full Alliance command. Whether it was to himself, or the Alliance in general was carefully avoided.

 _Now_ , Shepard realized, _it's just a matter of whether he is trying to command the_ Normandy _or myself._ But that could wait. Everything had a season, all in its due time.

The admiral's shuffling hinted at resolution. _"Very well, Commander. I will present your … situation."_

Shepard knew his request had already been discussed – Mikaelovich wouldn't have contacted him otherwise. If he agreed to what essentially translated to being a delay however, then his request would be considered to be voluntarily delayed.

 _Unacceptable_.

"I of course, would accept the protocol, and the responsibilities that go with it. If it were given."

The Eurasian-descent admiral's shoulders stiffened; a violent shift from the almost serpentine nature of before. _"Someday I would like to find out how you are so knowledgeable, Commander. If not for past performances … "_ He cut himself off, inhaling deeply, then blowing out the breath. _"Very well. The Omega Freedom Protocol is yours until Saren is dead, your term as Spectre is up_ _, or the authority is seen as needing to be terminated_ _. Whichever comes first. And may God have mercy on us all."_

"Done. Thank you." The man was obsessed with regulation, but there was no point in being impolite. Someone dedicated enough to reach the lofty title of Rear Admiral held resources after all. Resources Shepard could use, should the time come to it. "If that is all?"

The other man's face twisted again, _"Indeed. Mikaelovich out."_

Electronics whined down, recovering from their inter-galactic transmission. Shepard didn't move; staring at the indicator. Any minute now ... it never failed. Every time the Protocol had been granted, another little conversation would take place, like Prometheus stealing fire and being threatened for it. Almost every conversation had resulted ways against his long-term benefit, and almost _never_ without a threat involved.

 _The gift of fire has consequences,_ he thought. It was a cheering realization. _You can only play with it a few times before getting burnt._

The signal blinked again, flashing an unusual number of times. Normally, an announcement would go straight to his omni-tool, or through the acting Flight Lieutenant; this kind of message … complete silence. Shepard let it sit, opening the standard tracer program – it's what he'd done every time.

Despite his ever-more sophisticated tracking software, the origin codes revealed nothing, suspicious in its own right. The _Normandy_ had been created with top-of-the-line security in mind, its contact data given to a mere handful of individuals and … the thought came to him painfully late … whatever shipyard had performed its construction.

The panel chimed at him, patiently soliciting attention. Its origin code hadn't changed, but on further study, could be traced as configured through the pilot station. Clearance had obviously been granted connection as an official communication – but that still didn't indicate who wanted that clearance.

 _No one ever wants to be identified, but they want to know everyone else. Lord, give me strength._ He flipped the icon. "Shepard."

A vague form appeared, undefined despite the _Normandy's_ best efforts. _"Commander, good to see you,"_ The voice, subtly enhanced, had an air of easy command. The electronics added depth most likely; it was easier to misrepresent vocal patterns that way. To strengthen a lie, adding truth served quite well.

Shepard raised an eyebrow before tapping his own output control, matching the caller's representation. Blurring his own image would have been safer to begin with, but a ship commander didn't need to do that all the time – and most people knew it. A petty response, but a clear sign of his opinion.

 _"A bit late for that, isn't it? You're losing your edge, Commander."_ The voice sounded amused. _"No matter. I hear compliments are in order. Well done, attaining your position … and on your upcoming nuptials?"_

"Thank you." Shepard responded politely; it had barely begun, yet he was eager to finish the conversation. "May I ask whom I have the 'honor' of addressing?"

The incoming image twinkled multiple colors as if amused. _"Direct as always. You'll remember me from a few years ago; we worked together on a mutually beneficial project on Noveria."_

It was a struggle, but Shepard kept his voice level, "I have a lot of projects on my ledger. Be more specific."

 _"Come now, I'm sure I'm sure a man with your intelligence wouldn't forget such a systematically thorough instructor as Doctor Horatio?"_

He suppressed a laugh. It had been phrased oddly, but the hint was clear – one of the lesser-known Alliance Intelligence divisions, trying to lead him by the nose again. The speaker hadn't actually identified himself as being Horatio, but wasn't even attempting to be subtle about it. Possibly soliciting information on people Shepard had worked with before? _Two could play at that game. What would be a good name to drop?_

An almost evil feeling came over him as a new idea sprang to mind.

"Wait … Armando what's-your-name … Banes? I knew you were paranoid, but even I'm a little more trusting than this. I thought that trouble blew over a few months after we met." He triggered a recording algorithm in his gauntlet; a little present from Emrys. Banes had been a long-quiet name for ten years, one that had jumpstarted three major corporations in its time. Why had it come to roost just now?

The voice barely paused, but it was noticeable. _"Very good Shepard. Your memory is as impressive as ever."_ It shifted to a more businesslike tone. Again, it did not bother to confirm or deny the assumption, which meant either it had taken the bait, or dismissed the name as inconsequential – an unlikely hypothesis. _"The information I have received indicates you're headed into Council space in the near future, yes? And with the Omega Freedom no less."_

"Indeed." Shepard refrained from rolling his eyes, visual blocker or no. Someone in the conversation had to have standards.

 _"We have an assignment for you. Something we are sure would be of concern for you."_ The neutral voice continued without pause. _"Jak Ser, in the Volus home system of Aru is hosting—"_

"Not interested." Shepard moved his hand over the control panel, "the first time I worked with your group, I was young and naïve. The last time we collaborated, a good woman's life was ruined, as was her family's. All to gain the support of a corrupt businessman 'cooperating' with the salarian Special Tasks Group." He pushed his voice hard, biting off the words. "Our interaction is over."

 _"A hard decision, I know,"_ the voice fell, disappointment thick in its timbre. _"But for the security of Alliance interests, we had to make the call. In the choice of two evils, it was the lesser one, of which I believe you are aware."_

"That is not a new argument." Shepard growled; leaving out the honorific that had never been mentioned. It reinforced his perceived lack of respect, a subtle, but noticeable statement to his caller. "A famous man mentioned that very matter over three centuries ago. He said: 'Those who surrender freedom for security will not have, nor deserve, either."

 _"Moral high ground makes you a better target,"_ the voice countered. _"Another man also said: In the face of extinction, every alternative is preferable."_

Shepard just stared at the image; did he wake up stupid this morning? "I'm sorry," he tried speaking more slowly, in case the transmission was faulty. "Did you just compare sacrificing a human life for a criminal's cooperation – to an extinction event?"

 _"Small problems lead to big problems. Big problems are harder to solve, and lead to catastrophes that could have been easily stopped while small."_ The man took an almost chiding tone, _"That's why we contacted you before. You can do the hard things lesser men cannot. Don't turn on us at the pinnacle of your efforts! You can do more good where you are than an army of vigilantes."_

"At too high a cost," Shepard moved his hand. "Get another fool to do your dirty work."

 _"This is highly important!"_ The voice protested, still calm, but not as measured as before. _"Vital for Alliance security!"_

"Then you have your own decision to make." Shepard said flatly. "I'll give you a piece of advice: Every time you take the easy choice, it gets easier to repeat. You know you'll pay the price in the end, and it always comes out just a little more expensive than you'd hoped." He made to disconnect once more.

 _"We have information on Spectre Saren Arterius that could assist your assignment, Commander, data you requested not ten hours ago. Are you so willing to gain a moral victory that you would ignore us for something that happened four years ago? To someone you knew for only a handful of days?"_

Shepard paused, but only for a moment. "My request was a private message sent through the Diplomatic corps. If you have information about ex-Spectre Saren, I suggest you tell Captain Anderson. I disagree with your methods, and will have nothing more to do with them." The off switch clicked softly, but with finality.

To his surprise, it didn't immediately blink on. Seconds passed, then one minute. Two.

The magnitude of what he'd done seeped into his mind. That's one more probable enemy now. _Whomever they are._ He had suspicions, but that's all they were: suspicions.

Standing slowly, he began the short walk back to his cabin. _Realistically speaking, I should have played along, just one more time. Whatever it is they want, it has to be a lesser evil than letting Saren Arterius stay free … doesn't it? Gained a little more intel, uncovered a little more dirt …._

He bumped into a crewman, smiled apologetically before continuing. Behind his back, the crewman froze in position before moving on. For Shepard, his own words came back. _No; sometimes success at any cost negates the victory. Every mission I did for them chipped a little further at me; much more, and I fear I'd end up like Kai Leng._ The thought of the psychotic killer made him shiver. _Better to punish the guilty you can reach, than hope your ill deeds gain you the master of evil._

That slowed his steps. _This kind of attention … I can't do what I used to, not anymore. SpecOps watched my back, and I like to think I had a few allies with the Admirals. At least, they looked the other way when I had work to do._

It felt like he was under the microscope once again, watched by everyone. Like when he'd been announced as the majority trust overseer, responsible for an entire colony's worth of financial reserves. Enough money to nearly bankrupt five insurance companies, including two members of the Big Ten, an action unprecedented since the Interstellar Banking Standards enactment.

 _Oh, and don't forget about one little bequest._ Bitter memories welled. _A minor will-and-testament, leaving bloody majority shares to the survivors, 'payment' to ensure the colony kept going._ Nanotechnology, a cursed blessing. Hundreds of offers to buy him out still filled his business mailing accounts. _I had to refuse. Only a native would care for Mindoir like I could, and I'm the only public face left._

 _Enough woolgathering._ He came to a stop. _It is what it is; burned bridges there may be, but you still are dangerous. No, you're more dangerous now; the mask is off. Classified files had to have been shared with the Council, especially 'Regent' Tevos._

Abruptly, he switched routes, headed for the armory. _I'm going hunting again. A good feeling; a good crew, a good ship, and a field full of nothing but targets._ A shiver of happiness made his shoulders quiver. _I need to get the kit together again; most of it is here, but … yes. Nanites, better stock the shotlocker with everything I can. Maybe … just maybe … the Nar'Sheth will fight again._

* * *

The train of thought led him to seek out his personal locker. Determination was all very well, but good intent alone would fail to convince slavers to repent. Guns did that best.

He stopped _en_ _route_ by the private locker in the 'extras' location. Lockers on the _Normandy_ were surprisingly luxurious, but a man whom wore as many hats as Shepard required more, chiefly when using all of the specialties at once. _Right now as acting Captain, Investigator, Specialist and Lord only knows what else, I need as much as I can take._

Carefully, he reviewed inventory. _Toxins, check. Spare weapons, check. Spare armor – partial, need to get another carapace. Spare omni-tool, check._ The list continued, hands working on automatic. Every soldier had a survival kit, a personalized setup he'd keep after throwing everything else away. Its contents depended on how much pre-mission prep time was available, and the resources. Usually, it consisted of a close-fitting series of belts, lightweight and out of the way. Marines typically prioritized food, followed closely by a weapons care kit, and then medical supplies. Light Assault infantry, to the contrary, usually held a belief that food and medical were most important; followed by extra energy packs for their jets.

Shepard held a slightly different list; food could be acquired on a local basis, but an emergency cache had a lofty position. Oxygen was either present or not; re-breathers could be fitted in a space the size of a fingernail for aquatic exercises.

 _Wait_ , Shepard went back over his poisons. Few of the N7 had seen a need for them. Fewer had the means to create arboretums across Alliance Space, and stock them with representative species. Shepard had been able to in both situations, leaving himself – normally – well-stocked. _Need to re-up my dart frog cache. Hemotoxins need replenishment too … might as well order a complete set while I'm at it. That's going to take time._

Moving again, he opened his omni-tool, waiting until the elevator doors closed. "Vee-eye, take dictation." When the virtual intelligence chirped in answer, he began. "To Admiral Hackett, Fifth Fleet. Subject Response: requested assistance." He checked the floor number, slowly edging upwards, and resumed. "It looks like I should be able to be where you need me. I would advise holding back Fleet elements until Darius and I have engaged initial talks. In the interests of facilitating future activity, I would advise Admiral Mikhailovich ready his scouting elements for Traverse activity. Also, I have heard nothing from Admiral Kahokou; he wished to contact me several days ago, and has sent nothing. Have you heard from him recently?"

The elevator stopped, pausing just long enough for him to read the message printed on the omni-tool's screen. "Accept. Save. Send." The bracelet vibrated in response. "Good."

Shepard took in the cargo bay, from the quartermaster's position to where Wrex and Ashley seemed to be … establishing dominance. He shook his head, and tapped out a quick message. Both of their omni-tools flared, pausing the … conversation.

Fading back, he watched the two glare at each other, then return to their respective corners. One put away the weapons she was modifying whilst the other made a very careful – almost ostentatious – show of securing his weapons in the locker.

Shepard frowned; relations within the specialist squad were crucial; he'd have to talk to them. Later. For now, he contented himself with a few more messages, requesting the specialists to attend a meeting for their next mission.

* * *

 _Normandy SR-1_

Comm Room

Meetings were – by and large – a waste of time. Essential, but given to posturing, grandstanding and elaborate displays of opinion. On the other hand, he'd attended more than a few where off-the-cuff comments had led to massive plan restructuring, which was good. At least a little.

Shepard had gained a feel for Wrex's position. The large krogan was a quiet professional, experienced in a way few could ever dream to become. Younger krogan made up for inexperience with brash energy; Wrex watched and waited, then struck the weak points with a practiced, cold fury.

Garrus on the other hand, personified the role of a jocular mastermind. Every shot had an effect, and every joke eased the group's tension.

Shaking himself, Shepard stepped into the circle. "Thank you for coming. To save time, I'll give you the situation, and then you can ask questions. Acceptable?"

Nods gave him approval to proceed. "Right," he moved to one side, activating the projector. "We have been asked to take over a negotiation. The State Department sent contact information, background history, and a location." A small planetoid shimmered into existence, floating in the center of the display. "This, is Nonuel, a class 4 Near-Garden world. It has a lovely mixture of suphur and carbon dioxide atmosphere, ninety percent standard gravity, and less than fifty percent mass."

The image clicked, evaporating into the visage of … if he had to make a guess … a severely irritated human male. Shepard deliberately turned away from the image, "This is Darius, aka Lord Darius. Ten years ago, he took up residence here as a registered privateer under the Duklong Accords. When the Alliance shifted policy, he was grandfathered in as a part of the Hades Gamma militia."

Clicking the command codes again, Shepard brought the lights back up to full capacity. He absently noted how Garrus and Tali failed to blink – although her faceplate might have become slightly more reflective – while the human and krogan members of his audience squinted. _Interesting reactions, thought turians had better eyesight than humans … check later._

"Now, eezo miners in the system are complaining that Darius has been stealing from their stockpiles, extorting fees for protection and taking an inflated compensation in eezo." He brought both hands to parade rest, the omni-tool band clicking gently against the ancient weapon at his side. "While Plutus is too close to Hegemony space for a true mining operation to have been developed, enough has been produced so that it would hurt if this keeps up. Bottom line," both hands came around, clapping in front, "We go in, tell him to stop, and get out. Any questions?"

Garrus raised a hand. "Sir, wouldn't it be more … fruitful, to have a negotiator? I took some training in C-Sec, but I'm no expert."

"Good question," Shepard could see the agreeing nods around the room. "The answer is—I don't believe this is an actual negotiation. Not the speaking type, I think."

The turian looked down, glaring at the floor, then back up. "Are you asking us to … remove a threat?"

Mentally, Shepard gave a small round of applause for tact. "Assassination, you mean? No. Just consider it aggressive negotiation. Combat probable."

"Works for me," Ashley interrupted. She nodded at Shepard, "One of my sisters works at a refinery. They used to get shipments from Plutus, but it's gone downhill recently. If things don't get back to normal soon …."

"Understood," He glanced at his omni-tool, checking its chronometer function. Plenty of time. "Any other questions?"

"Actually, yeah." Ashley raised her hand, "What's with the museum piece?"

Shepard blinked. _What?_

"That sword," she pointed at his left hip, "Are we hitting a monastery on the way in or something?"

 _Ah._ "This?" he tapped it, sensors recognizing his implanted receptors, and drew the _ulfberht._ "This is something I take along when getting down to business. A little toy I made a few years back." One wink, gave a rakish look to the female Marine, "the most technologically advanced weapon on the _Normandy_ , if you ask me."

She laughed, "You're kidding me, right?"

He twirled the blade around, offering its hilt to the room at large. "Not really, no. Consider: guns change capabilities at every tech advancement. From gunpowder and chemical propellants to mass accelerators, they don't really have a stopping point, and will keep changing. Knives, on the other hand, have kept the same basic form for the past three millennia." The blade flipped in his hand, ringing softly in the quiet room, "At its most basic level, a knife is just a handle and a point. Used right, it can punch through armor, sever arteries …" it slipped back into the sheath, magnets clamping it into place. "The only change I know of is that this sword is made of eezo-densified steel. Good stuff."

"Possible," Tali broke in. Something about her eyes danced, "But archaic weapons and hackey beliefs are no match for a gun at your side. Did I say that right?"

Ashley laughed, "Close enough. Good job, Tali."

The little quarian beamed at the praise, while the other two aliens in the room just looked bemused. Kaiden on the other hand, was somehow finding it necessary to grasp his upper lip.

Shepard took a step back, figuratively speaking. Ashley's interaction with the non-human specialists had been … spotty. Something he'd meant to talk to her about. Now was as good a time as any. "We will be arriving in a couple hours. Get your gear, talk to the quartermaster if you need more, and charge it to me if he asks. Williams, a moment?"

The tanned woman froze, just enough to be noticeable, but stayed behind as the room emptied. To Shepard's view, she seemed … resigned. As if something was occurring that she'd expected.

When they were finally alone, Shepard focused all of his attention on her. "Williams, we need to talk."

The woman sighed. "I knew this was coming … look. I know what you're going to say, and don't worry, I get it. I'm a Williams, but I'll follow orders."

"That's … good." Shepard paused; "But why would you think I'm asking about that?"

Ashley straightened. "You mean, you're _not_ talking about grandpa?"

Sighing, Shepard sank into a chair. "Williams – _Ashley_ – I was going to ask about your opinion about the non-human crewmembers."

"Oh." The silence stretched.

Shepard let it. Most people couldn't stand silence, and had to fill it with something. Torture was nothing, compared to manipulating the workings of the inner mind. No one knew that better than he.

But, as the clock marched onward, he had second thoughts. Williams – _Ashley_ – wasn't an enemy combatant. She was under his command, entitled to respect. Including non-interrogation techniques.

He stood again. "I'll tell you what I have seen," the length next to the wall served as an impromptu pacing ground. "On Eden Prime, you worked with an asari to great effect, but I had the impression you did not enjoy the process. At the Citadel, working with Garrus and Wrex seemed to be difficult, but only before the action started. Here, and on Therum, you fought well, but I believe you were holding back. And just a few minutes ago," Shepard made the effort to look her in the eye, "I witnessed a … discussion, with Wrex in the cargo hold."

Stopping, Shepard leaned on one of the chairs set in a circle. "Yet, I have seen you befriend Tali, encouraging her when she's feeling down. I've seen her look up to you; actively look after your health. Not to mention how the other squads look up to you for what you did on Eden Prime; not many could come out of that intact. But you haven't been interacting with them very much."

"You are a good soldier, Ashley. One of the best I've seen in years. But, you're holding back; hamstringing yourself for some reason. Why?"

Ashley folded her hands on her lap, head bent. All he could see of her face was obscured by the dark hair she'd left untied. "How much do you know of me? Of my family, I mean?"

Although an odd response, Shepard played along. "Nothing. I make it a point to not go beyond the immediate, unless I have good reason."

"And here I thought it was in my files or something," she muttered. Then louder, "My grandfather was General Williams, from Shanxi. Yes, _the_ General 'Anvil' Williams."

Shepard just stared at her. "So?"

Her head came up, shoulders back. "So? My _grandfather_ is the bloodiest general in Alliance history! He sacrificed thousands instead of surrendering to the turians, would rather _die_ than be defeated!" One hand came up, irritably swiping away the hair, "Do you know why he's known as the 'Anvil'?"

"He was tough?" Shepard ventured. This was a new side to the gunnery chief; normally, her demeanor was much less volatile. "I have a bit of experience with them. Can't get any work done without one."

She laughed, a hollow, cracking sound. "He got beaten so hard. Like an anvil. Never surrendered, but beaten. That's where the nickname comes from. My father never went above Sergeant grade, I won't make it above Chief. Everyone's afraid the Anvil's reputation will crash down on them."

Shepard made a rude sound. "Reputation? Rumors? Ashley, is that why you think you're here?"

She shook her head, "Nossir. But it's why you'll ask me to transfer."

One eyebrow rose, "For someone who has no aspirations for rank, you seem pretty quick to make decisions for me. Do you want to go so badly?"

"Nossir! It's just, I mean no disrespect sir, I'm – not …" she floundered, "Sir, I didn't …"

"At ease, Chief." Shepard waited until she'd relaxed. It wasn't a true calm posture, but was probably the best he would get at the moment. "Chief … _Ashley_ … I never turn away good help. You're competent, intelligent, quick to obey orders, and you think before obeying. You can fight both in and out of a Max setup, adapt to terrible situations, and have a knack for helping out the underdog. Why on Earth would I get rid of you?"

Before she could answer, he continued. "Scratch that. My ship, my rules. You are good; you're staying as long as you want. Since your record is a little light on deployment," he noted the twitch, but ignored what it meant. "I will ensure you get plenty of experience. There are no slackers on my watch."

He took a moment to close his eyes, breathing in and out. "If you stay, will you promise to work hard?"

Dark eyes met his own. "Yessir, I'll do my best."

"That's all anyone can ask." He took out the omni-tool, opening the calendar. "I'm scheduling you for training with Garrus on the range." Her abrupt cessation of movement caught his attention, "That was the other part, isn't it? You don't like aliens?"

Ashley shrugged uncomfortably under his eyes. "Turians were why my grandfather got the reputation he has. The Council doesn't care for us, just as another attack varren for when the next krogan threat comes around. Or Rachni, that seems to have them spooked but _good._ I don't hate them for it, since it's not xenophobia, not really. Would you hate a man that keeps dogs just to scare off bears?"

"Anyway," she sighed, "I've never really trusted aliens. Quarians have a good reputation with my family, they don't want to do much other than rebuild their navy and take on the geth. That's good in my book, but the others …" her eyes came up, "I don't trust them. They've been in Council space a long, long time."

That changed things, but only slightly. Perhaps for the better. "I have to agree with you. I don't trust the Council, never have, never will. They play a little rough with their toys, and I don't want to end up in their play-chest."

Her sigh of relief spoke volumes beyond what had been said. "I'm sorry sir, I don't want to be nosy or anything, but if you really feel that way, would you – could you – permit a question?"

That was an interesting twist. "I don't bite, Ashley. Not without warning, anyway."

Her hands worked, similar to Talis' when she was nervous. "Is it true, what the papers are saying? You're … engaged to an asari? An _alien?_ "

 _Ah. That again. Should've expected it sooner or later, hopefully later but beggars can't be choosers._

"Let's just say, I have powerful opponents. I don't know if Doctor T'Soni is aware of the situation." He took a more interested look at her, "Now that you mention it, you have the most experience with her at the moment, given Eden Prime. What are your thoughts?"

The woman rocked back in place, apparently surprised at being asked. "You want a grunt's view? I just hit things Commander. You need a pair of fists, or someone to shoot big guns, I can do that. This …" dark hair shook loose as she shook her head. "Not my field."

"Welcome to the club. Guess this is where I start your training." Shepard straightened his back, shifting into a more didactic mentality. "But we'll have to go over that later. Right now, we better gear up. And Williams?"

She stopped, halfway up from her seat. Shepard flicked the blade outwards, drawing it from its sheath to a guard position in a single movement. "No one expects an attack from close range like this. Omni-tools shatter, glow, and give off noise. This – doesn't. We might need that sometime soon."

With glacial speed, her head began to nod. "Understood sir. I'll be ready."

"Good. Onward then."

* * *

 **A/N: I've had a couple of those scenes on the cooker for over a year now. Wasn't sure if they would make it into the story, but in the end, they did! Thanks for reading, reviews are appreciated, and major kudos to Nightstride for his help!**

 **Story shout out for the chapter: Massed Up, by DelVarO (ID 9416373)**

 **Quick spelling correction on** _ulfberht_ **from Endrius, thanks!**


	14. Out of Mind

_Pirate raids were something Shepard was good at. In my experience, and access to ... um ... obscure records, he'd led more forces in engagements than any other individual. Admiral Hackett's choice was impeccable, even if his timing was less obvious to the less discerning eye. By sending the Commander so far out of communication range, he shielded the entire ship from the intense scrutiny Udina and the Council's announcement generated._

 _Of course, this also gave Shepard a chance to demonstrate his prowess to the neophyte specialists, and any squad-members that happened to be watching the video-link feed. Two birds with one stone, as the saying goes. Testing new blood_

 _I have made it a policy to never out-guess the admiral. The man has the highest MENSA score in the military._

 _Notes from Dr. Pavenmeyer's logs_

 _~Project Ragnarök Files_

* * *

 _Detective Vakarian_

 _Kodiak NC17E_

Garrus looked up as Shepard entered the shuttle. "What took you? We almost sent a … a …."

The commander looked – different. What had once been an average-appearing human was now … dangerous. The easy stride characterizing his movement across battlefields and ship decks alike was now a predatory strut, confidence embodied. More than that, the human was … painted. Like the decorative gilding female turians applied in – special – occasions. Or the dyes asari used at social interactions, above their own markings.

"Shepard? " he ventured. The man turned his head to look at Garrus. The single glance held an air of lazy superiority, like a _vilai_ (1). Relaxed, but deadly.

"Detective." Even his voice was changed. Gone were the calm, businesslike tones – now it smirked.

Garrus blinked. One of the markings emblazoned on the human's forehead rotated, as if an independent eye rotating around a point just over Shepard's left eyebrow. Matching its movement, what appeared to be another ocular tattoo, spun the opposite direction, over his other eyebrow. It was … strangely hypnotic. "Shepard?" He cut himself off; explanations would come when they came.

"You look ready to dance," his companion, locked into her massive powered armor, held significantly less tact, "all painted up like that."

To Garrus's trained eye, Shepard looked amused. Humans typically looked at the lips and cheeks, but turians focused on the eyes. Edges up, pupils dilated. Happy, or unconcerned.

Shepard confirmed the diagnosis a moment later. "This close to Hegemony space, I find it helpful to wear my war-paint."

The shuttle's hull throbbed, mass adjustment fields flaring before leaving the Normandy's hanger. Her massive Menelaus armor, mag-clamped to the inner wall, barely moved while the rest of the squad shook in tandem. Dry tones came out, unaffected by the acceleration. "Don't tell me you're going to put in some feathers now?"

 _Feathers?_ Garrus wondered at the reference. _Avian body parts? Wearing feathers is a human custom?_

For his part, Shepard slipped another small white square from his belt, popping it into his mouth. "The Outer Colonies have come to expect a little pomp and circumstance from me, Chief. It would be rude to not oblige."

From nearby, he noticed Wrex start to sniff the air, moving his nose in small circles. Slit pupils dilated, centering on the oddly-decorated human for a moment before the krogan started chuckling. The deep, menacing noise made Garrus shiver; krogan were known to have a superlative sense of smell, equal to the turian capacity for the tactile. Whatever the mercenary had detected evidently tickled his murderous funnybone.

He shivered again, bringing the reaction under control. "Outer colonies eh?" he kept his voice bland, forcing a trace amount of levity into his words. "Would your show have something to do with the batarians? Hegemony space is fairly close here."

Shepard shot him an appreciative glance. "Yes, actually."

It was easy to deduce what was happening, especially since the entire story was written in the shifting colors around the man's face. "So, a devout follower of _Bubullimë_ , given a penchant for extreme bouts of violence, and strong enough to earn a fifth _tenga_." He scanned the rest of Shepard's armor, his own eyepiece giving more information than the average eye could see. "The officer markings are pure Alliance. I don't think the miniature flags are regulation, but given the circles around them, I would have to guess they're similar to notches on a gun?"

Shepard's eyes widened, doubtless impressed with his intellect. Of course, he wouldn't ever tell the commander the beginning of his information had come via a forwarded info-dump from C-Sec.

Then, the human had the gall to grin at him, and offer a gesture. One hand tipped to the right while the head tilted left; ordinarily a sign of disrespect in the Hegemony – but rendered a more lighthearted meaning with the hand motion. Garrus responded with a tiny lift of the right shoulder, and a talon-flick on the same hand.

 _That the best you got?_ One interpretation, the most likely one, of Shepard's gesture.

 _Bring it_. His own response stated … in the voiceless vernacular, of course.

Off to the further wall Wrex grunted at them both, a deep, booming rumble that made boots shudder. When both Garrus and Shepard looked up, the krogan raised both gauntleted fists, and slammed them together. Terminus shorthand for inviting all challengers.

Almost simultaneously, Shepard and Garrus nodded- back at him. Garrus was a little faster on the reflex however, leading to his – again in the parlance of the Terminus Systems – having priority.

"Boys," An amused Ashley spoke up, voice rendered with a buzzing sound through her suit, "Did I miss something? Tali, did I miss something?"

The quarian shrugged, "I thought they were talking about the weather."

"Stake?" Shepard asked, ignoring them.

That was a good question, Garrus realized. While Shepard never mentioned it, the records indicated he had access to billions of credits. Wrex, on the other hand, was a mercenary with centuries of experience, good quality armor, and guns. Presumably, longevity indicated resources. By comparison, an underpaid detective had little to offer … what could he use?

Then he knew. "I have a … stash, some Co'rel brandy. Aught thirty vintage. You?"

Shepard made a popping noise with the elastic material he insisted chewing before every mission. It had to be a human thing. "That's pretty good, Drell-manufacture, right?" He didn't wait for confirmation. "I'll kick in a customized set of throwing daggers. For the winner, of course."

Both Garrus and Shepard ignored the inquisitive looks from Tali's corner, waiting for Wrex's offer.

He grunted. "Got an old rifle kicking around somewhere. Old Devlon model, never used it much."

Garrus eyed the krogan's oversized shotgun, taking in the scarred gauntlets cradling the piece like a newborn child. Why would the short-range loving krogan have a rifle? It had to be good quality if he'd hung onto it. Good enough to compare with his own offering. "You have talent, Wrex. But I hope you've made your farewells to that rifle; I'd like to see how it handles."

"Hang on, what about method?" Shepard interjected, "Most hits, or percentage of hits?"

Considering, Garrus eyed both his own and Shepard's long-rifles, as well as Wrex's piece. "Percentage? Ranged only, no biotics or tech attacks."

Shepard hesitated, bringing a smile to his mandibles. He'd seen the human display an affinity for long-distance technological wizardry. Banning that increased the odds in his favor. Belatedly, he realized there were three squad-members watching. "Anyone else want in on this?"

From the front, Kaiden shook his head. "I use biotics a lot, no good for me."

"Same here, kinda," echoed Tali. One gentle hand caressed the stock of her shotgun. "Although, I would be happy to be referee the gun-cam footage when this is over."

"We'll take you up on that," Garrus said with a glance towards Shepard, and looked at the last human. "What about you, Williams? Up for a little fun?"

The blank, pitch-black plate in her helmet stared at him, turning once to glance at Shepard before she finally shook her head. "I don't really gamble, so I'll sit this one out. But good luck."

Garrus gave her a jaunty salute. "Luck makes up for lack of skill, Williams. I make my own luck on the practice range."

Shepard interrupted.

"We're coming in," his voice was more like its usual self again. "Watch your corners, and sing out if you need help." The shuttle jostled, entering a more powerful gravity field than itself. "I'm not expecting this to go quietly; but everyone's going home after this one. If it's a choice between yourself and a potential incident, take the shot. Let the diplomats handle the fallout. Agreed?"

He found himself agreeing whole-heartedly.

* * *

 _Commander Shepard_

 _Plutus System – Hades Gamma Cluster_

Arrival to the planetoid provided no difficulties. Ground based turrets remained motionless, and the low-grade stations in orbit had just enough firepower to discourage a minor pirate raid. Combat frigates like the _Normandy_ carried more than enough armor to ignore such a minimal threat.

After what felt like hours – unaided by the low-gravity and tedious scenery, they received clearance for landing.

 _Huh, looks more than half like a pirate base._ Shepard didn't need more than a cursory look. _Clutter everywhere, just enough room to walk._ The bane of this battlefield type lay in the surprises that could be hidden anywhere; a stray wire connected to a charged Mako generator, stray sheets of metal over IED's. _Anything_. Sometimes, it was just better to drop a twenty-kilogram slug from orbit, obliterating the target and traps in one fell swoop.

Closer to the center of the encampment, it looked as if more effort had been taken to clean out the rubble. Crates of expensive raw resources became visible, stacked in deceptively ramshackle piles. He could see the marks of hasty spot-welding, managing to get a thermal reading just as he walked by.

 _Much warmer than the ambient temperature. Maybe fifteen minutes old. That placed the activity roughly five minutes after the Normandy arrived in-system. Heads up by satellite, or someone else. A display then, distractions._

Shepard marched his squad through the more obvious ploys. The Alliance held a budget easily a thousand times greater than Darius's operation, yet they didn't leave crates of Element Zero lying around. Ammunition lockers, hardened reserve points in difficult-to-hold locations … it was as if a child had designed the layout.

Given the background data, it didn't seem a likely layout for a man of Darius's supposed experience.

The storage containers, scorched on the sides, looked more suspicious than the alleged positions, as if the original shipping labels had been lasered off. His nanotech receptors were detecting minor levels of signal output; the original owner's efforts had been thorough, but ultimately insufficient. _That means nanotech scrubbers …_ expensive, and nominally far out of the financial range of a pirate like Darius.

Inside, the anteroom – which looked exactly like a warehouse – wasn't much better. At least there were walls and a scrubber, better than meeting out in the toxic atmosphere.

"So, the vaunted Alliance diplomat finally arrives." Arrogance practically steamed off the man's voice, emanating in a putrid stench.

Shepard didn't respond. The weight of the ancient weapon made a reassuring presence on the small of his back, under the armor plates. A similar pressure on his side, replacing his normal second handgun, kept him aware of the weapon that while newer – was of a design older than Wrex. Both had waited for him, waiting for the right time to draw blood once more. Just in case, one sample of a beautifully complex weapon existed in his belt, the rest missing, but en-route. Some things were just too valuable to have on hand.

The fool on the balcony would learn. Or perhaps not; either method would suffice.

"I'm disappointed," Darius's continued. His body language reeked of conceit; arms folded, feet solidly planted at shoulder width. "I was expecting an actual negotiator, not one of the Alliance lapdogs. Tell me boy, will you get a nice chew toy if I like what you offer?"

Shepard smiled the special grin he saved for special occasions.

"The Alliance gave me this territory years ago, _boy_." the man seemed intent on getting a reaction. "You see this gun? It's an _Alliance_ gun. Your Alliance needed me, set me up with everything I needed. Now they want to forget our partnership?"

There was something wrong with the man's statement; how the shoulders quivered, and the fingers worked. The crates Shepard had passed, while entering the stronghold had looked … familiar … as well. _Might as well put out a sign and say: "I'm a traitor!"_

"Darius," he began.

"Lord Darius!" the other man insisted, "Treat me with the respect I deserve!"

Both of Shepard's eyebrows went up; the task was becoming more enjoyable all the time. "Lord then. King. _Emperor_ if you wish. Let's skip the formalities; I'm here because it's been claimed you've been raiding eezo miners. In the interest of peaceful resolution, what will it take to make you stop?"

Incredulous sounds came from Wrex at his back, and Ashley's heavily armored form. He widened his grin; was he actually smiling these days? Ever since he'd picked up that asari archaeologist, it seemed as if he'd smiled more often … how odd.

"Are you accusing me of raiding human colonies?" Darius's incredulous laughter bounced off the high ceiling. "The Alliance set me up to counter Hegemony forces. Do you take me for some kind of fool?"

Shepard rolled his eyes; hiding the action. Then he stopped; why should he keep the motion secret? The face paint, what he'd worn during his campaign in the Verge, needed some publicity anyway. His fingers twitched inside the gloves; the most relevant hand signal for _'Hostiles Danger Close.'_ Near enough to what was about to happen.

 _Time to put on the drama._ He stiffened, simulating an irritated stare at the highly placed man.

"The question you should be asking is: 'who am I?'" Shepard waited a heartbeat, then two, smiling as he did. Just before Darius responded, he raised one hand, depressing the seal on his helmet. The ferro-ceramic plates loosened, releasing their annoyingly tight pressure on his ears, letting the lower jaw protection hang for a moment. Lifting the top portion one-handed was tricky, and looked impressive. Red, glowing contacts in his eyes, imitations of the near-mythical crimson look batarians feared – glared up at them. The mnemonic of an old warlord he'd encountered helped solidify the image; a man, tired of small problems and willing to crush anything in his path.

It wasn't too far from the truth.

The humans on the upper floor seemed unimpressed. On the other hand, one of the two krogan was shuffling, prompting yet another evil smile on Shepard's part. Beyond that, now that his helmet was off, he could hear low cursing emanating from the back, well behind Darius.

Tipping his head to the right, Shepard smacked the side of a container with one armored boot. "I'm the one that happened to bring a krogan Battlemaster and Alliance power armor. I'm the negotiator with ten years of experience killing pirates in the Verge." He lowered his head, giving a significant look at the crates resting on either side. "I'm the one that can smell Hegemony shipping fifty parsecs away, upwind. Now, I'll ask you again," He shifted again, letting an impatient glare free in the arrogant pirate's direction. "What is your price?"

To his credit, Darius seemed entirely indifferent. "I have all the cards, Commander; you have the Dead Man's Hand. Your ship can't hurt me; there are eezo crates all over this warehouse. Take me down, and you'll lose a year's worth of product." Muscles in the pirate's forearms bulged as he leaned forwards, and placed both hands on the railing. "Attack, and any agreement with the Alliance is over. Here's my price: I want your ship. I want your crew. Give me that, and I'll be a nightmare to the Hegemony."

Shepard caught the muffled noise of outrage, either from over a comm device or in person … the tiniest amount of reverberation tilted his opinion towards the latter. That brought a smile to his face; he loved being right. "Your loyalty heartens me, Darius. My final question: which master will you serve? The Alliance, or the Hegemony?"

Even Shepard couldn't mistake the sudden cessation of movement on Darius's expression. "Choose your words carefully, little Commander. Your audience is almost over."

A faint vibration in Shepard's glove gave him the signal for which he'd been waiting. Confirmation appeared in the form of a miniscule crimson dot, appearing on Darius's forehead. _Hah_.

"I've changed my mind," he raised both arms across his chest. "If this is my hand, I have two good pairs. No more negotiations. No more deals. Surrender, or else."

To his pleasure, the other man started laughing, as if treating the entire experience to be a massive joke. While distracted, Shepard double-clicked his omni-tool. One second later, lightning flashed across Darius's form, erasing his shields and thunder filled the warehouse, cracking twice in rapid succession.

Slowly, almost comically, Darius fell backwards out of sight. The krogan flanking him looked down, then back to Shepard, then at each other; their human companions fading back. Before they could react further, the grenade launchers on Ashley's _Menelaus_ platform spat their payloads in rapid-fire succession, obliterating the passive defenses in a fraction of a second.

"Shepard here: We are go. Principle is down, repeat: principle is down." Shepard took his helmet and stashed it at his waist; the performance would be much more believable if he didn't wear it. "All hear this: there is at least one batarian somewhere here, likely near the back door. Let me know when you find him."

 _"You want 'em alive_?" He couldn't identify who it was; part of the reason radio protocols existed … but chose to let it go.

"If he falls into your laps, giftwrapped and ready for Christmas, sure. Otherwise, no. Am I understood?"

A chorus of affirmative grunts came back through. A thought came to mind, _Remember to thank them._ "Garrus and Tali, good work on the shock."

An amused quarian voice responded first, _"Next time you want me to take down shields, you could just say please."_

He shrugged, "Where's the fun in that?" Then winced. That sounded pathetic. Never mind, back to work.

To one side Wrex growled something that sounded smug. Shepard noticed the tell-tale wisps of Dark Energy building around the krogan's form. The krogan thundered forwards, smashing through a pair of human defenders as if they were weightless; then used point-blank shotgun blasts put them back down. _Increased his own mass and kept running._ _Impressive control._

The boom of Garrus's rifle filled the warehouse, followed by the anguished scream of some unfortunate soul. A quick follow-up shot ended the noise. _"Sorry, he moved. Still counts."_

Shepard ignored it, hunting for the elusive man – batarian rather – that had been hiding behind Darius. His squad had most of the angles covered; Wrex and Ashley systematically combing through the ground floor, while Garrus and Kaidan covered each other in a leapfrog advance. He touched his comm; "Headed upstairs, CQC expected."

 _"Roger that Shepard,"_ Ashley's voice responded. _"Need backup?"_

"Negative," the day he needed help taking on a band of half-rate freebooters was the day he'd hang up his guns. "I have them."

 _"Right Skipper. Just holler if you need help."_

* * *

 _Upper Balcony, Plutus System_

Shepard kept an eye on his visor's HUD. Three red dots marked potential foes, each angled in his direction – the head of the stairs.

 _A little shock and awe should do the trick_. He keyed up two programs on his omni-tool, releasing them in short order. A smoke grenade popped from the underarm launcher, landing in the center of the room, past the uppermost step. Just after it left his arm, a dedicated EMP jammer started broadcasting. Nothing else on the tool could be used so long as it was active, but at the same time no external sensor suite within fifteen meters could work. Since the program's output scaled upwards at a measured rate, it had the additional benefit of making sensors fail at an equal rate. Fear worked so much better when the imagination had time to work. The only thing left was a bit of acting.

 _Terror. Chaos. Servants of a higher goal._

 _["I smell your fear."]_ The words came easily to him, picked up by the chin-mike his visor carried, and re-broadcasted on an almost subsonic level. The language too, was important: harking back to a more formal era, when magic was feared and demons shunned. _["You cower in the dark, praying for salvation. But the only thing coming for you – is myself."]_

He ascended the last few steps, sidestepping into the smoke cloud, along the wall. _["I know you hear me_ djalë _, your heart is calling my name."]_ (1)

A scoffing noise emanated from the far side of the room. _["You do not scare me, human. Your deceit will not win you this day."]_

Shepard smiled; a formal response meant he was getting far deeper into the batarian's head than what would seem. He checked his peripherals, noting another human and a pair of batarians crouching towards him _. ["I hear you … and your friends. Or not-friends? It matters not …."]_ Word play amused him, especially in multiple languages.

Silently, he drew the blade from its resting place. Its length would have reflected light within the smoke cloud, had its compressed-steel blade not been coated in a matte polymer. Two heartbeats was all he needed before the vicious point went through the human's thoracic plate. The crunching sound of breaking ceramics almost overshadowed the pained, gurgling gasp.

 _["One less now,"]_ On velvet feet, Shepard snuck to one side, evading the searchlights headed his way. _["Two more, and your soul is mine."]_

A gunshot, poorly aimed, made the smoke curl around the crates on the far side of the room. Thanks to the unique properties of the wavelength Shepard was using, he couldn't be easily tracked by voice alone. It was a process derived from the feline predators in the Indian subcontinent, by men far wiser than he.

 _["Show yourself!"]_ Another shot, this time from a shotgun, scattered the remains of a small crate, likely knocked over in the earliest stages of the firefight.

His blade made the smallest of whisperings through the air as it met the first batarian's neck. It made one clean cut, placed just between the pauldron's upper portion and the helmet's lower protective surface, severing the nerve cluster connecting the spine to the cranium. The only indication was a wordless scream, and the somehow terrifying noise of a body collapsing.

 _["Two dead, and one soul between you and I."]_ Shepard –still being as quiet as possible – had to duck, infrared just barely giving him enough warning as the second batarian charged positions. The ultimate target, another batarian hidden behind the far side of a massive armored barrier, sprayed fire over the edge. None hit through the smoke, of course, but the noise blocked the sound of the last soldier choking under his garrote.

Shepard smirked. He felt no joy in killing; never had, and hopefully never would. But defeating an opponent, and protecting those who couldn't fight back … there was an addiction he could live with.

Backing up, taking short strides to minimize noise, he reached the edge of the smoke cloud, and started skirting its edge. An explosion from the cloud startled him, but didn't deter his path.

 _["This is the famed Nar'Sheth?"]_ the batarian's voice dripped condescendingly. Another explosion threw shrapnel into the cloud. _["You're just a human that kills."]_

Step by step, Shepard neared his goal, the batarian's back. His dark form reared back, reflective patches glinting faintly in the poor lighting, side arming another grenade. _["Speak, damn you! Where are you?"]_

The opening appealed too much to his sense of drama, despite the warning vibration on his omni-tool; the power cycle was about to deplete. He considered for a moment, before moving to the batarians left, approaching to within an arm's length. He ran his voice down to the floorboards, the rumbling sepulchral tones of the Underworld. _["Here."]_

He was almost surprised by the speed with which the alien attacked. The raised gun was only a distraction, as the off-hand's omni-tool was powered up and delivering the motions for an Enforcer-style punch. Almost, but not quite. What he _hadn't_ been expecting was the follow-up reverse swipe, delivered with the quickness of a striking snake.

Shepard lunged back, knocking the gun barrel away. It flew aside, disregarded by both of them. For the first time, he could see his opponent in full lighting; obsidian black armor, gold highlights on the shoulders, no insignia. Standard hardware for non-official Hegemony operations – no one could reliably trace a single aspect. But under both left eyes, he could see a black diamond tattoo. Each tiny shape outlined in a blue iridescent sheen. _Anya_ and _Seku_ , _Faith and Confidence._

Rarely seen, but among the deadliest in the galaxy. _Na'Hesith_. Elite black-ops servicemen of the Hegemony, feared for brutality, renowned for accomplishing their goal no matter what.

He tried to bring his own gun into line, but the other man moved too quickly, black fire curling along his limbs, reducing mass, accelerating movement speed. _Even better; a_ biotic _SIU._

In a single instant, Shepard brought his own specialized armor online. The combat system activated eezo nodes buried along precision-embedded circuits. He didn't look after the gun, now on the floor some distance away. Ghostly white luminescence of his own artificial biotics flared into being. The biotic division of the _Na'Hesit_ were the whole reason why Nightstalker armor had been developed; since forcing pregnant women to ingest lethal quantities of element zero was morally out of the question.

Ducking a flurry of blows, Shepard answered with a responding salvo, mass-effecting nodules activating to lend weight. Key flaws, inherent to both platforms held the balance of power; the immobile nature of the batarian's heavy armor, and the lesser protection Shepard's lighter set provided.

 _He's fast, very fast._ Shepard ducked again, blocking. Each blow felt like a mass-increased hammer struck his forearms. The return blows had to feel similar, but the batarian didn't flinch.

It soon became a dance, Shepard continuing his solid attacks, alternating with lightning-quick reflex strikes. Biotics tended to conserve their power, doling it out on infrequent basis. Very powerful members of that order tended to overpower their initial attacks before fading into a more deceptive style. Less powerful biotics tended to enhance themselves, changing the battlefield at every move.

This man was overpowering every attack, delivering body shots that would stave an unprepared rib cage. And they weren't slowing down.

Shepard caught the tell-tale pseudo-motion. Reacting, he reduced his own mass, leaping skyward, dodging a powerful _Shockwave_. On the way down he increased his mass, sticking the landing with enough force to dent the plating; massive enough to take the point-blank Enforcer-style punch without flinching.

The shockwave continued behind him, blasting through a retaining wall before finally dissipating. A faint breeze, courtesy of the punctured barrier began wisping off the last few shreds of smoke. Its sheer destructive nature surprised him. _Top line biotic … I didn't think even a_ Matriarch _could power through a shield-wall that casually … his eyes widened fractionally. One of the_ Glory _… Lord save me._

A second shockwave, even more powerful than the first roared into his path. This time, Shepard pushed as much power into his shields as their capacitors would allow, doubling the protection by increasing his mass.

It crashed into him with the force of a dozen krogan, shields shattering under the force, knocking him off balance. As the effects faded, Shepard exploded into action, wrist mnemonics activating a Warp emanation around his fist. At the same time he started tossing low-grade Stasis fields, tagging enemy limbs with each throw.

 _["Coward!"]_ his foe powered through the Stasis fields as if they weren't there. For the first time, Shepard started to wonder if he was outmatched. _["Foul li-tan! A year I have hunted you, and now – NOW – you show your face?"]_

Another blow struck Shepard, mid-chest plate. He rocketed back, smashing into the wall segregating the rest of the warehouse from the room proper. Another biotic attack hefted him off his feet, smashing into a crate of Red Sand. It detonated, enveloping him in a cloud of chemically induced euphoria.

With a roar he blew out of the smoke, racing forwards with lowered mass for greater velocity. He met the specialist with a biotic-assisted punch, _Warp_ -coated fist first. The mild _Stasis_ field made contact with the unstable biotic field around his attack, resulting in an explosion distorting standard physics. The resultant detonation lowered the batarian's mass while maintaining the strength of Shepard's attack, sending the _Glory_ into the far wall.

Taking advantaging of the respite, Shepard scanned the ground. His blade lay on the floor where it had been dropped, easily grabbed and sheathed in one motion, eyes open. Sending the batarian super-soldier across the room felt satisfying. It even looked impressive, but the end result lacked … damage. Less mass did not conserve momentum. Have to hit harder then.

The impact came from nowhere; he was lifted, frozen and then thrown within fractions of a second. _["Always you pluck the ripest fruit!"]_ the batarian's accent placed him as a middle-caste, one of the Fshatur. The most fanatical devotees generally came from lower stock; converts were the most devoted after all. _["Always you prey on the worthy! Enough!"]_

Shepard tucked and rolled, landing on his feet. _No more holding back._ Once more he gave himself over to the dance, clumsiness a virtue. Stumbling hurt, but controlled awkwardness added another dimension, another level of difficulty to interpret. But, despite his years of training, he was slowly being overwhelmed. He was more efficient; using a single motion to block two, or a step to avoid a furious salvo. In time, efficiency trumped emotion – skill the ultimate answer to power – but only if time allowed.

This batarian wasn't slowing down. Each strike came full-force, every recovery accomplished as if pain were nothing.

 _Of course_ _,_ _you idiot!_ Shepard weaved through another pass, deflecting the worst with a forearm guard. Information returned to his mind. _One of the SIU elites, the Glory division. Two or three-year lifespan after augmentation. But so much power before then …._

Somehow, the realization didn't affect him. Emotion, both not his own and yet more himself than possible. Contempt, for the four-eyed traitor. Anger, at being overwhelmed. Overall, a supreme indifference, the entire situation beneath him … and acceptance that sometimes the strongest fell to the weak. If he were honest with himself, it was the death he would have chosen.

Shepard withstood another attack to the side of his face, shrugging it off. The absurdity of it all had more impact than the hit – two insanely powerful warriors, throwing each other across the room like titans of lore. _Perhaps,_ he thought, _more like demigods, powers beyond the ken of mortal man._

A crate flew at his head, easily evaded. The follow-up exchange left him nursing a bruised face, and a stinging left hand. _Or maybe, like two chimpanzees, squabbling over the same coconut._ The comparison drew an involuntary guffaw; surprising him. It started again, a mocking, cruel sound of derision, completely out of character. Something he couldn't stop – somehow he approved, but had no control. He reveled in the laughter, a gleeful happiness that burned, rather than buoyed.

Without warning, the emotion suddenly shifted to rage. To think, he would die at the hands of a pedestrian threat like this?

 _Where did that come from?_ A wildly thrown haymaker came his way, met by a mass-enhanced counterpunch. Suddenly, his field of vision was filled with a demonic visage _. Hellooooo ugly. No, bad. Unhelpful thought. Try something useful._

 _["Die."]_ Crushing weight connected with the side of Shepard's face. He increased his mass as much as possible, directing most of it to his head. The batarian kneeling on his chest reared back, punching again and again, energy increasing with every strike.

Shepard squirmed, bucking his hips, trying to throw off the batarian, the armor relaying mass-shifts through every capacitor available. The energy inherent in his actions would have toppled a rhinoceros, but mass-enhanced muscles were more than enough to keep him down. Worse, the power needed to protect his head drew energy from the areas currently being crushed.

Just as black dots were dancing in front of his eyes, relief came. A bellowing roar, louder than what the quarian marine had exhibited, shattered the darkness.

Just barely conscious enough to see, Shepard felt more than saw Wrex slam into the batarian. Retaining enough presence of mind to scramble out of the way, he could not take his eyes off the pair.

Wrex had enough unenhanced mass to shrug off most attacks; the biotics at his command took that power and made it exponential. When the batarian struck, fist wreathed in biotic fire, Wrex crushed the hand with his own, and hammered his armored head-plate down. It drove the batarian to his knees, recovering just before the krogan repeated the action, sending the batarian crashing to the floor. There was just enough time for an enraged scream before an overcharged blast ended the fight.

Feeling ancient, Shepard rose to his feet. He ached, not the bone-crushing pain, just a tiring malaise. He nodded at the krogan, "Thanks. I needed that."

"Yeah."

Shepard swayed once or twice, but did not ask for aid, nor did the krogan offer it. "Know who he was?"

Wrex bared his teeth. "Dead."

Rolling his eyes, he tried again. "He was SIU. Who sent him? Why he was here?"

The krogan exhaled noisily. "Typical batarian woulda' been here for negotiation. Slaves, maybe. Experienced eezo miners are valuable. This fella," One tree stump-like leg nudged the fallen body, "Probably here for the same reason you are."

The body lay sprawled without any dignity; Shepard didn't feel any urge to fix that issue. Behind him, Wrex cleared his throat. "That an eezo suit?"

Shepard sighed; it had been a foregone conclusion that at least one secret would get out. "Yes. A secret to everybody though –"

"Yeah yeah," Wrex waved him off. "I know my contract. Kinda wondered, you felt like a biotic, but not when you were on the _Normandy_. Answers that."

His curiosity piqued, Shepard paused from examining the body. "You've seen this kind of thing before?"

A wide toothy grin met his gaze, "It's a secret to everybody."

As good as a yes then. "I see. You think they're any good?"

Large shoulders rolled in a shrug, "Good in a pinch, uh huh. Good as natural biotics, no. Always a step behind."

Shepard nodded. "Always been a problem. React, unless attacking. If I'd known one of the _Glory_ was here," one boot toed the fallen batarian's shoulder, "I would have suggested orbital bombardment. Eezo stockpiles or no." Reacting to an earlier thought, he started pawing at his utility pouches. A pity there had been only one ampoule. And that the subject was dead; a live carrier – an SIU _Glory_ no less – could have given _legendary_ results _._

"Any advice for future exchanges?" Taking a blood sample would have to do. Genetic testing always yielded valuable information, even if not immediately useful.

Chuckles filled the room, "Don't go at him stupid like that again. Other than that, just like any other soldier. Bullet or knife will do it." Rust-red eyes gave him a shrewd look, catching a glint of reflective material. "What are you doing?"

Shepard stoppered the vial, tapping it to make the contents settle. Batarian blood lost oxygen in stressful situations, faster than most species. It made them dangerous assault combatants, but as they fought, they lost some of their color – this sample had certainly undergone that kind of stress. "Plans."

The ancient krogan gave him another long look, but subsided. "Right. Now what?"

"We check on the others, then head back to the _Normandy_." He gingerly felt the side of his head. Then … I report, and get checked out by Chakwas."

"Commander! Shepard, are you there?" A frantic voice broke the hitherto existing radio silence.

Shepard tapped his earpiece. "Shepard here. Report."

 _"Sir, we just found a … jail, or something. Sir, it's full of people."_

He exchanged a look with Wrex. "Back to the _Normandy_ , after this."

* * *

Now and again, Shepard was reminded of why he hated slavers. Intellectually, their trade was an extension of the fallen universe in which he resided; a symptom of a deeper underlying problem. An objective individual would also consider the nature of slavers in light of their environment, the ancient 'nature vs nurture' disagreement.

At the moment, though, he felt neither intellectual nor objective.

"Kaidan, get a medical team from the _Normandy_ , ASAP." The younger man instantly turned away, hand to the side of his helmet. For once, there was no cheerful smile; no pithy advice, or comforting words.

Shepard understood. Underneath the warehouse, in the most secure place pirates could imagine, nearly fifty prisoners waited for medical attention. Some were too far gone, mentally or physically for his efforts. But some could be saved.

Gently, he moved to the side of an older man. _Coveralls, calloused hands. Pattern of a miner, but callouses under left side of the jaw, a musician as well._ Small, sure movements, calculated to minimize jostling helped move the groaning figure on his side. _Bruised wrists, contusions all over side of the face … tied and beaten. Not too badly though._

The woman nearby however, was shivering violently, curled into a fetal position. _Torn shirt, blood under fingernails,_ cold rage, the old companion, grew. _Imprint of a hand on her face; she resisted. Was punished for it. Nothing I can do for her._ Shepard opened one of his pouches, removing an emergency thermal blanket. Its compact folds opened more than enough to envelope her entire form, although the terrified whimpers at his touch nearly broke his heart.

Backing away, he tapped his earpiece, "Tali, could you come down and help? Some of the … prisoners … may respond to you better than me." _Female, and visually similar to nuns. May be atheists,_ but … he gave a sober look across the entirety of the floor. _No atheists in a foxhole._

Her confused voice responded with gratifying speed. _"On my way Commander. We captured four of them; Garrus and Wrex are watching for now. Did you want to talk to them?"_

 _Prisoners_. He didn't realize how tightly he was clenching his hands until the biotic trigger beeped a warning. "Thank you Tali, I would very much like to speak with them."

Waiting for the quarian took only a few minutes, during which Shepard did his best to comfort the former prisoners – except for the women who screamed when he approached. When Tali did arrive, it was to see the normally stoic N7 embracing an older woman as she in turn held a crumpled body, weeping. Despite his best efforts, Shepard was unable to keep tears of his own from trickling out. Once.

He met her eyes, hidden though they were behind reflective visor. "Her son. If we'd arrived a few hours earlier …." Shaking his head, he gently released the woman. "Still too late. Do what you can; some of them have been through a very hard time."

Wordlessly, the quarian stepped aside, letting him pass. He lay one hand on her shoulder, putting as much emotion into the touch as he dared. "Thank you, Tali'Zorah. I will not forget your kindness."

Continuing, his way upwards, he fought down the urge to rampage through the floors, tearing everything apart in his anger. Cold is better than hot; the worst terror lies within. Make them feel it.

When he finally reached the door, he found the two aliens watching the door, Ashley standing further back in a watchful stance. "Vakarian, you know interrogation?"

The turian flared his mandibles, giving the spikes atop his head a brief shake. "I'm pretty good at it in C-Sec," he said. "Not that they let me do too much out in the Precinct."

Shepard took in the statement, parsing its vagueness. "You play good cop?"

Mandibles flared again, quivering, then drooped, indicative of optimism. "Good enough."

"Right," Shepard turned to the _Menelaus_ wielding figure. "Ashley, did you see the people downstairs?"

The massive shoulders shifted, lowering like an angry bull. "Yessir. You gonna' mess them up?"

He gave her a half-smile. "I never torture, Williams." He waited a half-moment, just enough time for the gunnery-chief to begin sputtering apologies before continuing. "But, I won't shield slavers from the consequence of their actions, yes?"

Both rotary carbines under Ashley's clenching fists rattled in their housing. "I don't get it, at least right now. But I'm learning. Orders?"

Shepard smiled, showing his teeth. "Blunt honesty. Very good. I want you to stand in front of that doorway," he sketched an imaginary line two paces away from her current position, "and shoot anyone you don't recognize."

Without hesitation, Ashley stumped to the new point, and settled the armor into its lockdown mode. Ferro-ceramics rotated in place, holding a semi-crouched position that would have been extremely uncomfortable, if it weren't for the powered aspect holding everything together. Both guns lowered, focused their latent fury on the doorway. "Got it Skipper."

"Good."

Settling his shoulders, Shepard let the pressure fall away from his mind, pushing it deeper into the lesser recesses. _Another bunch of punks. More fodder for the grist of war._ The image of the people below, victims one and all paraded across his minds' eye. Any hesitation vanished.

Garrus was already ahead of him, tapping the glowing panel with just enough force to trigger the command. As the pre-fab materials began their slow grind, he glanced back at Shepard and shuffled to one side.

Taking the hint, Shepard barged forwards, seizing the opening frame with one hand and shoving. It shrieked in protest, the sudden movement shaking its breadth against the wall in a shuddering boom. He brushed past, letting one arm clatter, as if too hurried – or angry – to notice.

Inside, he quickly spotted four bound men lay against the far wall. Kaidan Alenko stood by the near side; an excellent position. Shepard took fast, angry steps across the polished stone floor. _Three humans, one batarian, all probably ignorant, but not wasted._

Garrus hurried in behind, keeping his body language more open than Shepard's. "Commander," he called, "We agreed to do this together!"

A smile tried to escape, but he quelled it. "We're interrogating them now turian," he growled without turning. "Those fools in Command might think you're in charge here, but I'm the one pulling the trigger. Got it?"

The detective caught up with him, playing along. "There's no need to execute them, Commander. We can drop them off at Ulysses, they have a dedicated base – "

Shepard pretended to ignore him, taking advantage of the moment to do a surreptitious examination. Of the three humans, two looked damaged, likely hurt in combat. The third seemed hale and hearty, as did the batarian. The last one received a closer inspection _. No sign of torture, good. Low-ranking, possibly useful._ The concept of their _not_ being useful crossed his mind; it slipped off. Slavers get the maximum penalty. _Lesson to others, or information on others. No wasted resources._

The batarian was watching him very carefully, Shepard noticed. Almost surgically precise in his movements. A trait of his species.

Feigning casualness he didn't feel, Shepard reached behind his back, grasping the stock of his father's sidearm. Its weight pulled down on his hand, assuming a naturally upright position. He gave the four men a devil's grin, and placed the ancient weapon on a table. It made a dry, scraping noise as it slid. He kept his eyes on the weapon for a moment, admiring its classic lines before lifting his head.

"I am Commander Shepard, perhaps better known to you as _Nar'Sheth_." Of the four, only the batarian reacted. A very, very, tiny motion, but Shepard caught it. "You four, are here because I allow you to live. The slaves in the basement, the illegal drugs, the weapons … those are just the bare edge of the asteroid. I will give you one chance to answer; no second chances."

Garrus moved forward, projecting a regretful air. "Unfortunately, my partner is right. You're in Alliance Space, and that means Council Law is secondary here … although I am sure the Council would greatly appreciate anyone the Alliance is willing to hand over." He gave Shepard a friendly grin, and turned back to the prisoners. "Now, I think this might be all a big misunderstanding, so if you could help me figure this out, you can get back to your business as soon as possible. All right?"

Shepard tuned out the detective's patter. He was obviously skilled, emphasizing how sorry he was about the entire situation, deftly warping the edges of their crimes into a veneer of their current standings.

For his own part, there was another task to accomplish. _Prowling_.

Properly intimidating a subject required multiple variables to be met. A fearsome reputation helped, but could only work on what the subjects saw and heard. So, the slow walk around the edges of the room, only to stop in a dark corner. Stand partially in the light, what isn't seen adds fear. _Should I? Or shouldn't I?_ Long fingers tapped the syringe still lying in his belt. _Not a Glory, or even special forces … but self-controlled, well-trained. A pad-pusher then, minor combat training._

A hint of savage glee roiled in his gut. _Good. All the better._

"Are you sure?" The turian stopped short, feigning remorse. "Oh, I'm sorry. Of course you're right, let me write that down."

From Shepard's vantage point, he could see Garrus give a convincingly sympathetic nod, tapping down more information. The detective had already mastered two of the four, pulling more information from their unresisting minds than he could have gotten in a week of effort – talent indeed. The batarian kept staring at him though, or more likely, at the temporary tattoos emblazoned on his forehead. Better night vision had advantages.

 _Stay in position. Do not move, as still as Death_. Body language was almost as important to the batarians as it was to the quarians. Motionless bodies meant death. Unmoving eyes gave a psychological sensation of apex predators. _Powerless …_ the thing no one wanted to feel, particularly slavers. Too much emotional baggage accompanied the feeling of helpless compliance; a career in kidnapping tended to do that.

"Good, I got it now … oh. I must have written it down wrong; could you repeat that second part?"

Slowly, Shepard began to show his teeth, ever so slightly tilting his head forwards. Moving again, this time around behind the restrained group, he let the soles of his boots clip against the floorplates with enough force to ensure his position was easily determined.

He came to a stop beside the batarian. One hand dipped into the hermetically sealed pouch, withdrawing a sterile needle. The other hand danced mid-air, unfolding his omni-tool into a new configuration, identical to the form it had taken earlier, with one minor addition. Not that anyone would notice.

"What … what's he doing?" One of the humans spoke up nervously.

For being unwarned, Garrus covered magnificently. "Oh, one of the blood tests we have to do on foreign nationals. You know how it is, all the innocence in the world and then the DNA test links him to a dozen murders. A pity they never thought to plead guilty beforehand, isn't it?"

There was a moment of silence, stretching as the thought bounced across various methods of thought.

 _Have to hand it to him,_ Shepard adjusted the micro-tip, locating a vein near the surface, _I haven't seen the Prisoner's Dilemma worked out in a group setting._ Metal sank into skin, drawing a gasp from the batarian. The sound appeared to prompt first one, then all three humans to begin talking. No one noticed a tiny stream of silver liquid trickle down the syringe's side, vanishing into the dark skin without a trace.

All at once.

 _Chaos_.

Shepard felt a smile, an actual, legitimate smile, grow on his face. Watching orderly criminal activity fall into flames shouldn't be entertaining – their final fate would be life imprisoned at the minimum. Yet he still felt a warm euphoria flow through his veins, lightening the weight so heavy.

Looking down he found two sets of eyes, both belonging to the same person, looking up at him. They seemed resigned, as if knowing their fate already.

 _["You will live, djalë."]_ This time the word was not used in mockery. Sometimes, he just felt so much older than everyone around him … more so since Eden Prime. Since then, it felt as if he'd aged a millennia or more. _["In return for delaying my judgement, you will owe me a favor."]_

Curiosity gleamed in the dark brown eyes. _["What would you have me do, Nar'Sheth?"]_ he asked. _["You own this base, the wealth of a dozen mines are in your hands."]_

He kept his hands firm, but let a quiet edge of command slip into his voice. _["I know who sent your people here. I do not forget, Son-of-Blasfemues. You will deliver a message for me. To your family. Your superiors. Anyone who will listen."]_

A chirp in his earpiece alerted Shepard to the completion of the task in hand. The needle slipped out, leaving a small pad of gauze to apply over the wound. Minute traces of medi-gel repaired the damage almost immediately. Shepard leaned still closer, watching the batarian wince at the heavy peppermint scent on his breath –alien physiology meant the race as a whole felt an almost extreme burning sensation at the scent.

 _["You will tell them Death is coming. Too long I have held my hand, too long did I wait for wisdom. No longer. By this time of Kar'Shan's next visit to this solar quadrant, I will have had my revenge. Entire houses will be destroyed, and could have been prevented. Do you understand?"]_

All four eyes held pupils far too tiny for their size. _["I hear, and obey."]_

 _["Good."]_ His honesty was conveyed through his tones. Wanting the slaver to live long enough to witness justice counted as wanting him to live. _["Rest. While you can."]_

Shepard stepped back, returning the bloodied syringe to its holding place. In his own place, Garrus continued taking notes, asking questions and getting answers. But the batarian seemed incapable of speech … or at least, he never responded.

Quietly, Shepard returned to the wall, partially hidden by the shadows. His conversation, in one of the more common Hegemony dialects, likely remained unheard. No one would suspect. Few would care.

Just the way he liked it.

"Sir?" Ashley's voice caught him by surprise, just as he exited. His presence was no longer needed.

"Chief," He nodded at the woman. "You may stand down. Please inform the relief squad to prepare a shuttle for departure. One batarian pilot, no passengers."

The lockdown mode disengaged, raising her vantage point to a full half-meter above his head. "Sir? You're … letting him go?" Disbelief colored her words.

"Letting him go?" Shepard gave her the benefit of the doubt. "How little you know me. Have you read the classics? The Divine Comedy?"

The helmet nodded, an incongruous motion amidst the tools of destruction surrounding her frame. "I prefer Tennyson, but you know that from Therum, Sir."

"He believes he shall be free," Shepard made a half-turn, glancing back into the room. "I prefer the phrase: 'Hope not ever to see Heaven. I have come to lead you to the other shore; into eternal darkness; into fire and into ice.' No, Chief. Sending him home is no kindness. You will understand soon enough."

"Yessir." She saluted, "You won't get in trouble for this?"

He surprised her by chuckling. "Fools rush in where angels fear to tread."

Ashley nodded. "Alexander Pope. Glad to see the classics are still in use after all these years."

Shepard started to leave, but paused. "There's a reason they're classics. Some things never fade away. Even if forgotten."

* * *

(1) _Djalë,_ batarian term referring to an untested youth. Sometimes used as a term of endearment of elder to younger, but never used by a lower class to a higher.

* * *

 _ **A/N:** Happy Thanksgiving! Belated, yes; courtesy of a video project, the GRE and upcoming finals. To paraphrase someone I don't know: "This too shall pass, and so shall I."_

 _Thanks to Nightstride for his tireless beta efforts._

 _Story suggestion: Quarian with a Shotgun, by Bofomania (Story ID: 8002657)_

 _See ya down the lane!_


	15. Interludio

The metal corridors of the _Normandy_ were close, but comforting, the protective walls of his own defensive walls. He shuffled, favoring his left side, one hand mopping away the last of his battle face-paint. The batarian bruiser had been more effective than he'd wanted to let on, especially in front of a krogan. Garrus had been solicitous, but backed off at the warning looks from Alenko and Williams.

In all honesty, the concern was touching. He'd failed on Plutus, taking on an unknown foe without backup. _If sarge could see me now, he'd kick me six ways from sideways and have me running miles for a month. Then he'd start tearing strips from my hide_ _._ He tried to divert his attention to the small stack of forms in his free hand, proof that the galaxy existed on paperwork. _No rest for the weary. Or was that for the wicked?_ He shook it off. Either way, he wasn't getting any rest.

The shake turned into a desire to pound his head against the bulwark when Doctor Chakwas's voice echoed through the hall. _"Commander Shepard, when you_ finally _come in, Doctor T'Soni is awake. There are a few … questions, she would like answered."_

Giving the un-pounded wall a regretful look, Shepard tapped into the ship network. "Message received Doctor. I'm on my way."

Ship-time was past 1800, which meant reduced lighting on most levels. Ordinarily, he'd feel more at home in the shadows, it was easier to escape notice when all was dark. When the med-bay door hissed open, the stronger lighting poured out, nearly blinding him, highlighting his weary face. "What's up, Doc?"

Chakwas snorted. "Six people go down to a negotiation, and you are the only one to come back injured. Somehow, I am not surprised. Why is that, Commander?"

Shepard gave her his most innocent look. It felt good, letting down his guard for a while. "You are an incredibly intelligent and witty woman, with a gift for precognition?"

She tried to hide her amusement, he knew she did. But she didn't try as hard as he knew he could. "Get in here. I won't do much … you have enough to face as it is."

 _Enough to face? What … oh. Doctor T'Soni ... well, this should be interesting._ The line of an old classic drifted to the conscious portion of his mind; _To land of gloom with tramp of doom, with roll of drum …. Oh cut it out; it can't be_ that _bad._ Shepard came to a halt two steps inside.

"Commander Karl Magnus Shepard." A decidedly cool voice greeted him. He shifted his focus to the regal blue figure sitting on the spare seat. He didn't need to be a mind reader to see the sheer anger radiating from her frame. Or the incredibly rigid stature of her upper arms, tense to the point of quivering; that couldn't be a good sign. Her next sentence echoed through the room like the crack of an ice-covered whip. "Or should I say, _fiancée?"_

Shepard sighed. "Doctor, have you heard of the phrase: 'Mercy killing?'"

A resounding slap caught the left side of his face. Given the damage already present, it hurt. Artificially increased density did nothing to ameliorate the effect of a full-fledged assault. He was aware enough to catch the furious set of her shoulders. "Don't even joke about this, Commander. Not in my infirmary."

"My apologies," he meekly lowered his head. Now that he thought about it, it had been out of taste, and certainly not something he'd normally say. _Must be overtired._

Her hands relaxed, and she nodded towards the analyzer. "Sit down then. Let's see what happened to you."

He sagged onto the bed, and then remembered his audience, straightening once again. "I owe you an apology as well, Doctor T'Soni. All I can say is it took me by equal surprise."

"Really." Her frigid tone was accompanied by a folding of her arms across her chest. He was certain the effect would have been impressive, given a different audience …. even himself, were he less tired. "You knew nothing of this?"

"Nothing." He raised one hand, cutting off the inevitable retort, "I will provide you with transcripts if you so wish. I did not know, I will not comply, and I have removed – _Ambassador_ – Udina," he dearly wished to say something rude, "from his position as my representative. Duly compensated, of course."

"Of course," she echoed faintly. Her arms came down slightly, and he could see the vulnerability she'd been hiding. It was in the slumped shoulders, the slowly rising knees. _Unconscious protection of vital regions. Universal across the galaxy._ "You … you really said no?"

"In more colorful terms dear," Chakwas swept between the asari and Shepard. "Now, lie still Commander. This may sting a little."

"While I have your attention," Shepard turned his focus to Liara, "I have a few questions you weren't able to answer bef – _Criminently!"_

Chakwas brushed a cloth across the side of his face, deftly avoiding his eyes. "I warned you. Now will you settle down or will I need to bring out the thumbscrews?"

He gritted his teeth and fell silent. There were enough subdermal contusions to turn him black and blue – if not for medi-gel, it would have been a marvel if the tendons hadn't been damaged. Chakwas's hands became gentler, apparently realizing the extent of his injuries.

It took him a moment, but he finally shook his head, eliminating the last of the pain-induced fog. "Perhaps we can start again." He took a deep breath, then mentally slapped himself for betraying a base emotion. It wasn't healthy, but there was nothing that could be done for now. "Doctor T'Soni, Commander Shepard. It is a pleasure to see you again."

The blue face contorted, but grew still. "Indeed. You have been active since when we last met. Lest you think me ungrateful, I want to thank you rescuing me on Therum."

Shepard gave her a seated bow; somehow, it felt right, given her formal mannerisms. "I could hardly allow someone who helped me on Eden Prime to be captured by former-Spectre Saren. Your knowledge of Protheans would be a formidable asset for him as well. I deeply apologize for the trouble our," he hesitated on the term, "alleged engagement is causing."

He could see the wheels turning, following the shifting hand position to a thoughtful movement under the jaw that supported no weight. He awarded himself a point; if the hand had begun supporting more weight, the asari would have been just humoring him. "Then – just to be clear, this … arrangement … was of someone else's design?"

"Ambassador Udina and Councilor Tevos are my primary suspects," Shepard shifted his seat on the examination chair, pausing to allow Chakwas access to his lower jaw. After she moved upwards, he continued. "Udina was my representative; whom as mentioned, I have since removed on the grounds of failure to communicate. Tevos is your Regent, since apparently Matriarch Benezia has been on a mission. Former-Spectre Saren Arterius is also within the realm of possibility, but what he would gain from a betrothal contract is beyond my reasoning."

The asari unfolded her arms, slowly relaxing. "I have not spoken with my mother in years. Two weeks ago she sent me a message, requesting my presence for a project, but I didn't answer."

Chakwas changed the angle of the subdermal repair device she was using. "Please Commander, you will have time to talk afterwards."

He waved her off, ignoring her exclamation; this was important. _Two weeks … the timing ... difficult, but it makes sense._ "For someone of Saren's resources, that would have been cutting it close, but doable."

"Saren?" Liara tilted her head. "I had assumed the entire situation was a misunderstanding, or a geth incursion he was investigating."

He shrugged. "Two weeks ago he would have anticipated needing a Prothean expert. To him, the Beacon on Eden Prime was important for something, important enough to try framing the Salarians for destroying a human colonial capital. What could be so essential for that? Just a bit of ancient technology?"

"Well," Liara relaxed further, leaning back into a studious posture. "Eden Prime is classified as a late Fifth Age Prothean colony world. The artifacts I saw there were reminiscent of Third Age construct, but incorporated designs of later periods. Relics from either are excruciatingly difficult to obtain. My university has been able to obtain less than a thousand good examples; and everyone knows there are no intact Beacons remaining. The entire Terminus region would invade if they thought there was one still functioning … perhaps he is attempting to obtain financial reserves?"

Shepard didn't have to think about it, even with Chakwas's somewhat irritable muttering near his head. "No, he has Matriarch Benezia giving him financial support in Council space, and the Geth resources to use outside of it. It has to be something else."

A thought came to mind, something stirred by his instincts. "You mentioned different ages being similar; how are they alike?"

"Near-extinction events," Liara responded promptly. "The first example is the Third Age, where the Protheans apparently waged war with an army of machines. Their name has never been successfully translated, but the Protheans evidently won that war, since they had time for two more Ages."

"And the second?"

"The Fifth Age is a definite extinction event. Many examples are spread across the galaxy, with a few exceptions." Liara started chewing on a knuckle, deep in thought. "There are some records of machines in the battles, but not like those of the Third Age."

Machines, why did it feel so familiar? He was close, he knew it. "How?"

"The images look different, really. What we've uncovered from the Third Age are represented pictorially by an oblong shape, showing multiple weapon emplacements along the hull. " Liara glanced up, locking dark blue eyes on his own. "The Fifth Age examples are almost non-existent– Commander? Are you all – Doctor! The Commander!"

Shepard felt a rushing in his head. The vision from the Beacon throbbed its way forwards, relentless.

 _An incredibly gigantic construct, shaped like an aquatic arthropod, reached hungrily to devour._ Blurring static occluded parts of its hull, but the running lights along its bow cast ravenous shadows.

"—warned him, too much too soon is going to make problems –"

 _To consume that which had been sown. Devour everything, destroy. Obliterate. Annihilate._ Only emotion, no images.

" – coming around, not nearly as bad as last time thank God."

 _Reapers of the harvest, taking that which had been planted._ Deep from the darkest regions they came, army upon army, fleet upon fleet. Unending, unstopping – but able to be destroyed. Claiming immortality, yet broken into pieces when the fury of their military came to bear.

It all made sense. A terrible, terrible sense.

 _We defy you. To our dying breath._ That part was the clearest portion of it all. The sheer fury, a hatred he'd known himself. Two minds across the vastness of time that felt the same emotion.

The images weren't an accidental series of pictures, scrambled data from an ancient, deranged machine. It had been a message. _A warning_. Machines built with the intent to last millennia didn't collapse on their own; something had happened, plans had gone wrong. What had caught in his mind gave the impression of desperate urgency, but fifty thousand years too late.

No wonder he'd been feeling off, seeing strange things! Whatever esoteric technology the Protheans developed needed a priority override of some sort; that explained why everyone else had gone mad. Why he had not, because he was different.

Cool hands touched his forehead, bringing him back to the infirmary. "Commander, can you hear me? Shepard!"

"I hear," he groaned. The memories persisted for a moment, showing him the bodies of alien lifeforms, twisted beyond recognition. "That Beacon … did a number on me."

Something injected the base of his jaw, hissing out of position. "Muscle relaxant, migraines are not pleasant. I'm setting up an EKG, can you –"

"No, I'm fine." Shepard waved her away, smiling at her insistent attitude. "Really, it's nothing we haven't gone over before. But now … I might know why." He reached for the communications tab, paused, and drew back, turning towards the flustered asari. "We should probably talk a little more before we get into the causes of the Prothean extinction. If you have any questions, now would probably –"

"Brace yourself," Chakwas tone dipped, "this will hurt."

Shepard winced, just as the sensation of electricity arced over his face. His leg jerked, but the rest stayed under control. Vaguely, he registered Chakwas spraying a soothing analgesic on the surface, numbing its biting edge, but he was just glad when the burning feeling finally stopped. He twisted his head to look at the doctor accusingly. "That. Hurt."

She shrugged, unrepentant. "Perhaps the numbing agent should been applied first? Next time, don't wait so long to come here, and don't downplay it when I ask you. I can heal with, or without pain. Remember that."

"I'll make a note," Shepard rubbed the now numb face. "Remind me to find you next time I do interrogation."

The doctor sniffed. "Just remember to override your own nanites tonight. Leaving my variety will cause scarring if you do not."

Nodding assent, Shepard settled in the chair once more. It felt good, relaxing after a successful mission, minor effects aside. The team seemed to be pulling together, the squads had taken to the new training schedule very well, and the last, unwanted gifts were set to be offloaded at the next battle station they passed. Base, not battle station. Political correctness decreed the change in names, but the massive constructs held the same bombastic presence as that of a fully decked out war elephant. Calling it a mouse didn't change what it was.

His thoughts were interrupted by the asari, now looking … pensive, if he was reading her body language correctly. Shoulders lowered, face angled down; cross-species trait. Breathing pattern … none?

"Commander," she hesitated again. "why do your people dislike contractual marriages so much?"

 _Starting out with the heavy, yes?_ Shepard cleared his throat. How had he misread her body language so badly? "Do you want the long or short answer?"

She gave an elegant shrug. "We appear to have time, but a dissertation is not necessary at this point."

"Understood." This time it was his turn to take a moment, collecting his thoughts. "In all honesty, there are certain cultures within my species that seek out and approve of marriage contracts. Some approve, and actively pursue such a thing. For the rest of us …" he turned to face her, barely noticing his rising voice. "For me, it's an insult. To set up a 'relationship,' sold off without my input, without my request, is more than insulting!"

Her face twitched. "I am … I am not disagreeing, Commander," she began carefully. "But … would it not also be considered a high honor? To be matched with – in all humility – one of the most prestigious families in the Council Races? I am certain that the selection process my regent undertook," she paused, growling softly in her throat, "was quite strenuous."

Shepard reigned in his temper feeling slightly ashamed. "Doctor," he forced his hands open, setting them on the table beside the infirmary bed, fingers intertwined. "I mean no offence, but the Council means nothing to me. The Alliance is not a member state, I am not a citizen of the Council," a twinge of conscience spurred him on, "other than the bare minimum required to be a Spectre."

The table creaked, complaining at the pressure. Echoes of the last conversation he'd had with Anderson seemed appropriate, but held back for now.

"Is it really … perceived as such a bad thing?"

 _So innocent._ He sighed. "To be honest, I don't really care if other people wish to undergo a marriage contract. To me, it's little more than an advanced form of slavery, and one of my favorite sayings from the Eighteenth century states: "'Give me liberty, or give me death.'" He paused, letting her parse the connection.

She did not respond, leaving the room in silence. He waited for a few handfuls of heartbeats, then continued. "To be honest, I had a friend that had a similar contract, set to activate when he turned twenty-five. His parents apparently thought it to be a comfort, a certainty that he could count on. When he found out, he disagreed."

"What happened?"

Shepard sagged. "Ivan hired every lawyer he could find, tried to make a loophole. When that didn't work, he found an isolated place, wrote a note, and ate a bullet. His parents were devastated."

Liara had frozen into place. "He committed suicide? Just to break an engagement?"

He heard the unspoken question, "Ivan felt it was the only option. I couldn't talk him out of it, and he didn't leave me enough time to warn anyone. By the time help arrived, it was too late. And no," he made the effort to look into her eyes, "I have no intention of committing _hari kari_. When I go, it will either be surrounded by my enemies, weapon in hand and a smile on my face ... or the traditional going down with my ship. Hopefully, not for a very long time though." Smiling felt odd, but also natural. Something he'd have to look into later.

 _After the next discussion._ Slowly, he stood, checking his balance. The ground remained stable, firm under his feet, always a good thing. That allowed him to make his way to the far wall. He tapped the intercom tab next to the light controls on the wall. "Shepard to Specialists, please meet me in the Communications room in one hour. Repeat: Specialists to Comm room in one hour. That is all."

Flicking the digital indicator to the deactivated position, he looked back to the asari. "If you have time," he made a show of checking the clock over the back wall, "I have a few questions for you. When I last saw you, you mentioned something about the families? Could you elaborate?"

* * *

Five minutes was supposed to be more than enough time, given the limited number of personnel. The room almost never seemed to completely fill, as if it were able to change size. It was barely enough time, his thoughts were roiling from the impact of what he'd learned. _I can't tell anyone … not yet. So many secrets, yet so simple an answer. I'll have to think about it for a while._

Shepard put the thought aside, rising to address the gathering. "Thank you for coming; but business first. Williams, are the weapons squared away?"

The tanned woman nodded, "Aye sir. A few pieces will need cleaning, but all arms are accounted for."

"Good." He turned to the resident Alliance biotic. "What about the prisoners?"

Alenko shoulders were still hunched; apparently the scene planet-side had made more of an impact than he'd thought. "We don't have enough trained people to help them. Best we can do is make sure they have enough medical supplies, and whatever assistance Doctor Chakwas is able to spare. She's been in contact with the surface ever since triage was set up."

That made sense. It explained some of her attitude earlier. "Good. I may need you to stay in charge here, Lieutenant. I'll leave Beta squad with you to help, until the Alliance sends an actual relief ship. Then, the _Normandy_ will pick you up asap." Receiving the other man's confirming nod, Shepard glanced around the room. "Debriefing will be short. Here's what we know …."

There was little enough to cover; captured intelligence still needed processing, but there was still basic information to disperse. Expanding on the Alliance's role in the Traverse didn't take much time, nor did the brief explanation of his own fight with the Glorious batarian. A brief rundown of the current situation took less than ten minutes, a habit he could get used to. After that, he scanned the room, mentally checking off topics. He wanted to get back to his cabin, to think about the immediate future – but in order to reach the future, he had to perform in the present. Such was life.

Gratefully, he found himself reaching the end of the formal portion, which opened the floor to the informal parts. "Good. I'll read your reports when you file them; until then, are there any questions?"

Ashley stirred. "Sir, what was with that makeup? It looked like tattoos, but you don't have them now …?"

The room became dead quiet. Individuals that had been carrying on side discussions under their breath stopped, waiting for what he had to say. Liara, new to the team, seemed to watch the eclectic grouping in turn, until she turned her own attention in his direction. Internally, he cringed. _You made your bed, now lie in it._

"Yes … I suppose you have a point … Ashley." He sucked in a lungful of air, exhaling gradually. "Some time ago, I realized that the batarians are a remarkably … superstitious … people. Obvious in hindsight really, any society so dependent on an unchanging caste system must be equally conservative elsewhere. When I discovered their susceptibility, quite by accident, I decided to take advantage of it."

Rising to his feet, Shepard started to pace, slowly making his way around the room. "Batarians have an ancient mythology, where two massive deities dueled for ownership of Kar'Shan, the Batarian homeworld. The battle is a legend in their Pillars of Strength, and the cause of how harsh the planet is to this day. Modern thought – outside the Hegemony – postulates their experience may have been the result of an interstellar conflict; references to demons blasting fire at angels with glowing shields, stars that shone brightly and caused the earth to heave upwards in response, that sort of thing."

"In the end, the two powers decided to divide Kar'Shan into segments proportionate to the number of followers each had. _Bubullimë_ , the light-sided being held a majority of the populace, and won ownership of three-quarters of the planet. _Blasfemues_ on the other hand, won control of a small but rich island-continent, and settled there. According to the legends, the two never went to war again, and began using their followers as proxies. As time went on, the war became more and more esoteric, with _Bubullimë_ and _Blasfemues_ interacting less and less on a personal level. The Pillars of Strength is supposed to be directives guiding both of their followers on the conduct of war, and peace. A training manual, if you will."

He turned to face them, observing each of their expressions but seeing nothing. "Some of the most feared killers in their history are also facets of their religion: the _Nar'Sheth_ , or Blood-drinkers in their common tongue. Whenever a batarian was born with red eyes, it would either be seen as a cursed child, or a warlord in the making." Shepard coughed, meaningfully. "As you probably know, most warlords tend to not like having threats grow under their rule. You can guess what happened. Families took offence at having their children murdered; struck back, which invited more retaliation. Chaos. Now, anyone with red eyes is suspicious; the Krogan Rebellions were considered proof of that belief."

Wrex growled under his breath. "Should have killed 'em all when we had the chance. Some pay pretty good though, so maybe not."

Ignoring the overly pragmatic statement, Shepard moved on. "So, a little face paint, some research and language studies, and the Terror of the Terminus lives."

Taking their silence as a cue, he stood up, swaying in place. "Really, it's not a big fame cachet. Everyone in the Systems wants to be called the Terror. Or the Death or Mutilator of something. Wrex or Garrus might know more."

"Oh, the _Terror_ , yes," Garrus rejoined, languidly extending his legs towards the center of the room. "I've seen the Horror of Haliton, Your Dreadfulness, the Dyslexic Alphabet Killer – only made it through Z and F fortunately – a few warlords that seem to think the color pink to be intimidating, Bunny the Bane – long story … everyone seems to lose their last name. Somehow. Lots of clans though, they seem to breed like pyjacks out there."

"Your name on the other hand," eerily spherical eyes focused on Shepard. " _Nar'Sheth_ crossed my desk a few times. Was always glad I didn't have to investigate that particular bogeyman. Is it true he destroyed a relief transport to Bur'gess Prime?"

Shepard's eyebrows shot up. "Never been there. Last I knew the clans were fighting over who owned the titanium mines, Gelin and Codin clans were in the lead, but I don't know for certain. Sabotage, probably."

"They didn't do it, not this time." Wrex's basso rumbled. "One of the smaller clans framed 'em. Got Gelin to hire a mercenary strike team to take on the whole group. Now Gelin's got a blood fever going, an' Codin's hidin'. Back in a decade, maybe less."

The insight surprised Shepard; forcing him to revise his estimate of the krogan's intelligence upwards. Again.

"On that note," Shepard changed the subject. "What should we do with you, Doctor T'Soni?"

"Me?" the asari sounded surprised. "I had assumed I would be doing research on your ship, at least when I was not with your people on the planet's surface."

 _Great_. He let no sign of his displeasure show. "What makes you think I'd allow a civilian into a combat situation? Most of my ground missions end up in gunfire. Lots of gunfire. You are a civilian, not a soldier."

Her back straightened, "I have undergone the basic training necessary for someone in my position. My hand-to-hand skills are in the fifth _szint_ , far above most asari."

 _She has fire. Good._ Shepard turned his shoulder to her, careful to not turn his back; out of the corner of his eye, Wrex's teeth glinted in an approving grin. "Basic training? Ma'am, the least experienced soldier on this ship has had a minimum of five years' experience, with a two year minimum requirement for specialization. They know how to fight, communicate, and take orders. They have training. How long have you trained? A college course in self-defense?"

Something in her body language warned him to be very careful. "Commander, I have nearly thirty years of intensive combat training. My biotics are rated in the top five percent; galactic standard."

That brought him up short. Faint afterimages of the pounding he'd received spawned a greater sense of caution. Swinging around, he faced the asari again. "What tier?"

Liara's chin came up. "Tier nine. I have dueled with matriarchs weaker than myself. And won."

 _One of the Ultra's._ Classification between species was a touchy thing; few species dwelled on an eezo rich planet like Thessia; off-planet asari had to import food from the few worlds so gifted, ensuring their offspring would wield the same biotic gifts as their progenitors. Skill counted for a great deal, but on the galactic range, only a few Krogan Battlemasters, a very few Cabalists, and asari Matriarchs achieved Ultra level.

 _For the love of all that's holy, a Na'hesit Glorious is a class seven._ A brief moment of recent history crossed his mind. _Well, maybe class eight. But that's still an order of magnitude lower than an Ultra._

"I see …" that changed things. Substantially. But, he wasn't the only one to have a voice; Liara – however powerful she was – wouldn't be watching his own back alone. "Garrus, thoughts?"

Clanking armor reminded him that the turian had yet to change from combat gear. "Well, much as we may want it, I don't think she's going to try to be all Siria Telon out on the battlefield," his chuckles made a lonely echoing sound in the silent room. He stopped, coughing in a fisted gauntlet. "I'd say we test her, see if she's able to work with us. We don't have another ground mission for a while anyway."

Shepard ignored Liara's darkening face – blushing again – and looked to Ashley. He'd have to look up who this _Telon_ individual was, if it could elicit such a reaction. "Chief?"

The soldier gave him a firm nod. "I fought with her on Eden Prime. She's cool under pressure, and follows orders. Besides, if Kaidan's going to stay here, we need another blue, keep us salty."

Shepard nodded; another good point. Without Kaidan, the biotics fit to fight were reduced to the five spread throughout Alpha, Charlie and Delta squads. Another biotic would balance the workload. They were good, but not quite up to Kaidan's level of expertise. That was, if Liara was an equally trained combatant.

"I agree with Ashley, Sir." The biotic in question spoke up. "Let's give her a trial run. I can do a few exercises, maybe do some sparring before the _Normandy_ leaves. Besides, this is an investigation, not an assault task force."

A look to Tali and Wrex told him all he needed to know; they would follow his direction; one by virtue of cultural upbringing, the other out of sheer pragmatism. "Then it's agreed. Doctor T'Soni is a provisional part of the specialist squad. Any other questions? No? Then dismissed; get some snack time, rack time, and back to work."

He waited as the room emptied, and caught Kaidan's attention. "Alenko, a minute please?"

The Canadian-born biotic paused as well, said something to Ashley that caused her to laugh, and made his way over. Shepard had to admire the man's social awareness; he could set people at ease without effort, act as if someone he'd just met was an old friend. That was something Shepard had to work for years to achieve, and it still felt awkward. For Alenko, the gift came naturally, without effort.

"Yes, Shepard?" Kaidan stood at parade-rest, relaxing to a less rigid posture as soon as he noted Shepard's mood.

"I need you to make a delivery for me, on your way back to the _Normandy_ ," Shepard glanced around, checking for eavesdroppers. "It's a data-stick, five petabyte version."

Kaidan accepted the device. "Where and how?"

That was one thing he loved about Kaidan; no useless questions, just simple acceptance. "On your way back, you'll go through the Pamyat System, and make a stop on the station over Dobrovolski. It's an _Olympia_ class battlestation, has a lot of ships coming in and out for repairs. When you get there, look up a transport: the _HMS Temeraire_. Give it to the mech at the loading dock. That's it."

The data-stick vanished in Kaidan's hands. "Understood. Channels being watched?"

"Has to be," Shepard gave an irritated grunt. "Engineering sweeps this room three times a day; I scan it before every meeting. When I changed orders for the lawyers on Earth, Udina somehow knew within a standard hour."

"Huh," Kaidan pursed his lips. "Glad it's you in charge of this thing then. At least, better you than me."

Shepard snorted. "Wanna trade? You can run the high-profile investigate of the Council's Golden Boy, and I can sit around running deliveries."

"No," Kaidan stretched out the word, humor evident in his voice. "Thanks, I'd rather be a grunt. That way I only get yelled at by people close to my own pay grade."

As Shepard unsealed the comm-room doors, he noticed both Tali and Garrus loitering around the side, far enough to be discrete but more than close enough to catch him before he left. He had an inkling about why Garrus was present, but resolved to make the pre-emptive move. "Detective, is this about that bet?"

A wide grin spread across his face; frightening but sincere. "Why yes Commander. How did you guess?"

"Your greed was showing," Shepard said drily.

The turian covered the lower middle portion of his thoracic region, where a heart resided on a turian. "You wound me. I could have been here to ask after your health, compliment you on your impeccable marksmanship, or just say hello. That is speciesism!"

"True." Shepard glanced at Kaidan, giving him a long-suffering look. "Remember this turian. He is a materialistic individual with a long memory."

Kaidan nodded, a perfect, deadpan movement. "Yessir. Materialistic man, sir."

Shepard gave the turian a formal half-bow, "Detective Vakarian, your throwing knives will be delivered to an address of your choice. Send me the link, and they will be en-route by the time you go to sleep this night."

"Excellent, Commander," Garrus gave a return bow, equally exaggerated. "I shall sleep better, knowing my teammates are men of their word."

Giving a half-sardonic salute, Shepard moved on to Tali. "Ms. Tali, I hope I have not forgotten a bet with you?"

The smaller quarian quirked her head sideways. "Is that supposed to be a joke?"

Shepard rolled his eyes. "Yes. It's apparently only common among turians and humans. Now, how may I help you?"

The faceplate shot upwards again, twin dots of her reflective eyes glowing beneath its frosted expanse. "Well, Captain, it's just that I noticed you used a wide-range EMP-style pulse in the fight, and I was wondering If I – "

"Sabotage charge," Shepard interrupted calmly.

She ground to a halt, reorganizing her train of thought. "Sabotage?"

One wrist extended, Shepard activated the program's pre-fire stage. "The initial burst is normally a targeted program. All eezo-based weapons have to incorporate a safe-fail capacitor, in case someone gets the bright idea of overcharging a bit of element zero right next to their face. There are overrides of course, but the safeties are always there. If you have a wireless connection, you can adjust the frequency to trigger feedback resonance in the safe-fail. If you tinker with the targeting software, you can also pinpoint sensor suites in eezo-balanced hardsuits. Push up the output enough, and you can blind sensors in a small room – most of the lower-grade ones, anyway. On high-grade sets, you can only mess up the targeting metrics."

Bright eyes examined the program, hunger shining in their depths. That was a good sign, quarians dearly loved technology, it was a deeply ingrained habit. "My people have a version of this, but it is more of a disposable program. Doesn't that overload the command sequence? It couldn't be reliable without an in-depth step-sequence pulse …."

Shepard laughed, watching her mentally dissect the program. "I tell you what, you take a copy of the program and look at it. If you can make an improved version, I'll pay you for it, and set you up with a distributor for mass production."

Instantly, her head snapped to attention. "You get a free copy, and ten percent of net profits. The Alliance gets an additional forty percent."

Slightly impressed, Shepard made a counter offer. "Patent rights are in the air right now, but if you can make a sufficiently different system, I'll submit the paperwork in your name. Fifteen percent net profit for me, thirty for the Alliance Veterans Association. You get the patent, and fifty-five percent net profit."

The smooth helmet bobbed once. "Done."

He moved on; that had felt good. Whatever the young quarian managed to cook up, it would be good experience for her, give him a personal advantage, and improve relations between the Migrant Fleet and the Alliance. Maybe if he managed to repeat the feat a few times, he would be able to retire in peace.

* * *

A/N: A shorter chapter than usual, but I wanted to get this out for the New Year. Hope everyone's 2017 is a great one!

Note: the 'safe-fail' phrase comes from one of my favorite sci-fi series: the Lost Fleet, by Jack Campbell. Excellent bit of work, especially in realistic physics of FTL and sub-lightspeed combat.

Thanks to LogicalPremise, for his Encyclopedia Biotica. One of the best fanfic groupings in the books. Bar none.

Apologies for the terrible formatting. Working on what is hopefully my last semester, and things are getting hectic. Also, on my third computer in 2 years - not getting Toshiba again for a while.


	16. On the Horizon

_One of my favorite stories as a child was the great Lord of the Rings, by that masterful writer: J.R.R. Tolkein. The man deftly wove tales out of thin air, binding actual history with fictional events, created his own language, and a pseudo-history that took thirty years to finalize. His tales of heroism always brought one thing to mind: sorrow, death and decay are inevitable. Losses will occur, and good men will perish while bad men profit. But, at the end, it will be all right. We will still remember the greats, and mourn their loss, while none will mourn the departed evils._

 _What does that have to do with my history? Nothing, nothing at all. Except that perhaps … just perhaps … if you find yourself siding more and more with demons, you should remember what the end result will be. Hopefully, you are not allergic to sulfur._

 _What's that? No I'm not trying to scare the readers, just give a little perspective. Yes, even asari have demons, don't try to tell me wrong, remember that woman you tried to set me up with nine years ago? … is this thing still on?_

… _Dash it all anyway._

 _Notes from Dr. Pavenmeyer's logs_

 _~Project Ragnarök Files_

* * *

 _SSV Normandy_

 _Captain's Cabin_

Shepard sat at the terminal a handful of paces beyond his bed. His gloriously comfortable, horizontal, bed. Unfortunately, he was spending his downtime unproductively, gazing past its glowing surface. _It comes down to two possibilities: Feros, or Noveria. One may have more use than the other, but which one?_

Sighing, he got up and stretched. The healing work had done its task, but even the best medical nanites couldn't alleviate stressed weariness. Which reminded him – his own nanites needed to be given the override. Leaving the Alliance medical nanites in place would help speed healing, but their numbers would self-replicate, making their removal at the conclusion of the treatment even more difficult. Some marines preferred to leave them in, avoiding the entire extraction process, but those soldiers typically didn't want to fine-tune things. There were advantages to keeping medical nanites internal, but the disadvantages outweighed the advantages, at least to Shepard's line of thinking.

The vial's thin needle glinted in his hand for a moment, just before it plunged into his skin. Its silvery payload swiftly flowed through the point, reinforcing the nano-technology within his body. They were already pre-set for code optimization, and would transmit it throughout his body without him needing to broadcast a proprietary access code where anyone could receive it.

It stung, but not badly. Which meant as soon as the injection was complete, the destination problem still loomed.

"Computer, read the list for Noveria." Shepard dropped the syringe into the recycling devices by his desk. It whirred, reducing the components into omni-gel, ready for another purpose.

 _"Noveria: points of interest for investigation,"_ The computer's synthesized voice, an imitation of a female timbre, responded to his order. _"Shepard Portfolios retain significant shares in 33.74% of the corporations active on Noveria. Requests for assistance in matters have a high probability of receiving favorable action."_

"Yes, yes," Shepard waved his hand impatiently, "Query: Who is currently administrator?"

The computer adjusted its readout. _"Current Noveria Development Corporation Administrator, Port Hanshan, is: Rannadril Ghan Swa Fulsoom Karaten Narr Eadi Bel Anoleis."_

That meant salarian. "Clarify Anoleis."

 _"Rannadril Ghan Swa Fulsoom Karaten Narr Eadi Bel Anoleis is the twin brother of Rannadril Ghan Swa Fulsoom Karaten Narr Eadi Roean Ksaleis, the thirty-second in line for the succession of Dalatrass Rannadril. Academic records are available from the University of Nasum, with a Paired-Degree specialty in Business Management and Cryptography. Secondary degrees include three redacted entries, and three degrees in Statistics, Psychology, and Communication."_

Businessman then, with government ties; common for salarians. But why would Noveria, a primarily human colony, allow an alien species so much control? "Computer, delineate Anoleis work history, use short names only."

 _"Acknowledging request. Understood."_ Shepard could almost hear the information flipping bytes … but then he had a vivid imagination. _"Anoleis has a work history of seven years, three months, two weeks and five days in Alliance space. To date he has been a respected consultant for Binary Helix, Cord-Hislop, and Synthetic Insight. Consultor work is listed as: Efficiency management, and network supervision."_

Translated, that meant he'd served as a connection between Council and Alliance interests. A possible roadblock, considering the business ventures Mindoir had ruined for others.

"End query. New query: Please specify the holdings of Binary Helix on Noveria."

The system paused as it began processing new data. _"Binary Helix occupies ten percent of the currently available research infrastructure on Noveria. Security is contracted under Saren Arterius, with Matriach Benezia T'Soni presiding."_

That was new. "Query: what exactly is Matriarch Benezia's position?"

 _"Matriarch Benezia is currently listed as 'executive secretary' under the orders of former-Spectre Arterius."_

That was slightly less than useless. "What are the functions of an 'executive secretary'?

Humming met his ears. _"Data not available."_

"What is the pay for an executive secretary?"

 _"Data not available."_

Shepard growled. "When did Matriarch Benezia become 'executive secretary' for Saren?"

A beeping noise emanated from his desk's speakers. "Query not understood in current format. Please re-phrase."

Sighing, Shepard took a moment to regroup. "When did Matriarch Benezia start working at Binary Helix."

This time, the computer sounded slightly happier. " _Matriarch Benezia T'Soni became an employee of Binary Helix fifteen years, five months, two weeks and six days ago."_

"Blast," he muttered. More than enough time to thoroughly cover any tracks Saren might have left. The other businesses were possibilities however – no one in his right mind would allow the actions of a rival to go unmarked.

"Computer, how long has Binary Helix held a position on Noveria?"

 _"Accessing FTL Buoy. One moment please … comm buoy out of range. Please choose another option._

Grumbling to himself, Shepard keyed the intercom once more. "Joker, bring us in range of the buoy please."

" _Roger that Commander. By the way, Alenko and Beta squad are en route, and we have friendlies inbound. Joker out."_

While waiting, Shepard moved to the miniature cold storage compartment. It greatly aided attempts to stay out of eyeshot, when working. Heating a cup of tea was also a good way of killing time; coffee was good, but a decaffeinated cup just didn't have the same flavor. Mint tea on the other hand, gave the heat and flavor of full-bodied fluid, without the energizing effect.

A chime from the direction of his desk snagged his attention. _"Response to query: Binary Helix became a shareholding member of the Noveria Development Corporation in June, 2157. Do you have further queries?"_

"One more," Shepard blinked slowly, inhaling the steam floating upwards from his cup. "What are the founding dates for Sirta Industries and Synthetic Insights?"

 _"Processing, one moment,"_ The voice seemed to vanish before reappearing. _"Synthetic Insights Limited has a founding date occurring on February 2138. The founding of Sirta Industries by Armando Banes and Doctor Jones Sirta has been accredited to two separate dates: March 15, 2129 and January 15, 2132."_

Banes, why was the name familiar? Shepard rubbed his temple, trying to remember. _Banes … Banes … Noveria? Doctor … Horatio. Armando Banes, that spook a few days ago reacted to the name. Another point to remember._ "Computer, new query: Who is Armistan Banes, association with Noveria?"

The machine responded promptly. _"The data you are attempting to access has been restricted."_

He muttered under his breath. "Computer: override code Theta-Sigma-five-five-one, N7-eye-are-dee, please confirm."

The Alliance symbol spun in place, reflecting a delayed loading time. Access even with FTL buoys took time. He'd experienced wait-times extending into days with slower transfer rates however, this was nothing to complain about. The symbol whirled a little faster before dissolving into the data stream. _"Access code acknowledged. Warning: records of access time and location will be relayed to Alliance Intelligence, Operative N7-eye-are-dee. Please stipulate access reason or reasons."_

Shepard put his mug down. What had the man done to require so many safeguards? He himself had access to data even the Prime Minister was forbidden to know, plus the Omega Protocol – a secret to almost every military echelon in existence, and he still doing the same rigmarole? "Begin access reason: investigations in Saren Arterius resources, comparison data. End access reason."

 _"Acknowledged. Downloading. Complete. Do you have any further queries?"_

He glanced at the file, then at the data tables still present on the secondary screen. Noveria wasn't the only place that had substantial financial backing. "Yes. New query: who is the main financial backer of Feros, in the Theseus system?"

 _"Feros is has been given full colonial status two years, six months and five days ago. ExoGeni is the principle investor, holding thirty-five percent of shares. Mindoir Industries is the second-largest shareholder, with twenty-eight percent shares. Ten percent of the shares are privately owned, and the remaining seventeen percent are held by individual shareholders."_

Shepard nodded to himself. Saren held some interest in ExoGeni as well, but not nearly as much as _he_ did in Binary Helix. In addition, Feros was well within Alliance Space, rendering sketchy Spectre status negligibly obsolete. An N7, backed by the financial status of Mindoir Industries' sole CEO would bring answers faster than investigating the labyrinth political structure Noveria had become. That decided things. "Computer, open a channel to the pilot station." He waited the brief moment until another chime announced the system's readiness. "Joker, plot a course to Feros. Let me know as soon as we depart. Also, don't use the Relays. Hawking engines will get us there soon enough."

The pilot's voice came back confused. _"Um, just verifying this Commander, but you said Hawking drives, not Relay travel? We can be there a few days earlier if we use the Relays you know."_

"I know. The order stands."

A sigh of resignation came from the speaker. _"Aye-aye, Commander."_

Shepard waited, pondering his decision as the powerful throbbing sensation shivered through his feet. _Relay is faster, but watched by everything out there, from Asari to Turian … and I bet the geth. No way they're sticking their heads in the sand behind the Veil, Saren got their attention somehow._ A map shimmered into place, tracing the various routes throughout the galaxy, brought to life by a single touch to bring the virtues into view. Feros lay in the Attica Beta region, near the Voyager Cluster, and therefore within easy Relay range of the Traverse. _No. If Saren is a step ahead of me, he's left eyes and ears by the shipload at every Relay between the Traverse and the outer colonies. Better to be safe than sorry; a few days won't hurt my chances any, and give more time for Legal division to get me more dirt on Tevos._

That was a good thought, something to keep in mind as the hunt progressed. Satisfied, Shepard returned to his research. _Bio-analysis teams on Feros, from salarian research firms no less. A stalking horse gambit from … the file flipped over in his hand … Actina Simulations. Looks like they were refused access though, ExoGeni proprietary research._

A different report clamored for his attention. _Furies present on Mindoir, Arcturus, and Beckenstein. No significant mortality spikes, but a number of influential positions have either become vacant, or changed their minds. Damn it, I was right._

He hated being right. _Have to set up a response, but not now. Keep focus on Feros, that's what's important now. Ummm. Colony world, yes, knew that already; protected by two Olympia class battlestations … what?_ That was unusual, normally the Alliance was careful enough to dole out the massive combat platforms to crucial systems. _Oh, edge of Alliance space, close to the Outer Colonies. Close to the Veil. And Saren is interested … make a note to contact Hackett before we go to light speed._

Something else sparked an interest. _Gone silent for three weeks, no investigation; low priority, or deliberate intent? Better include that in Hackett's report._ He sighed to himself. _The man will hate me for all the paperwork I'm sending him._

That done, he turned his mind back to the task at hand, namely that of learning the political terrain of the upcoming campaign. "Computer, access my portfolio for ExoGeni. Also, download the information on colony investment for Feros, and the research expectations."

 _"Please re-phrase request."_

"Gah," Shepard set down his cup a little more roughly than necessary so that it bounced. Softly, he took a breath, and set the cup back down again. Gently this time. "Cancel request, I'll do it myself. Set up playlist: Classical Introspection."

 _"Request: play playlist Classical Introspection processed."_ A soft work by Mozart began to play through the cabin's speakers. The smooth melodies served their purpose, lowering his frustration to more manageable levels.

"Computer, make a note for my omni-tool: find stress outlet soon," Shepard took mental stock of his own state. It had been weeks since he'd been able to just relax, months if he included the time before the Normandy refit had demanded his attention. His last … incident … had been the result of blowing off steam in an all-species fight club. Maybe this time he'd be able to find something a little less public? Surely he could last one more week? "Command: reserve training room for alpha two hours next week, 2100 hours, Monday through Friday."

The report away, he checked on the responses from Udina;s investments. _Good Lord … heavy investments in Cord-Hislop? What do they make, ropes? Donations to … political charities in my name?_ My _name? The news became worse the further he scanned. Transferring personnel without authorization, claiming tax exemptions for … what the heck are 'services for public benefit'? No, no, God Almighty, no!_

Shepard slammed the tablet onto the desktop, taking deep, cleansing breaths. _My brother, on the Citadel right now I think. I'll have to give him a call. It's time to express my … displeasure … to the Ambassador. Have to avoid difficulties, security; easily done._ He picked up his omni-tool, setting up its tightest encryption protocol, coding it to bypass standard channels. Having a large interest in an inter-galactic communications company helped in that regard. _Code access to the Embassy, check. Backup armor, check. A little something to remember me by … check. And … sent. Get cacked, Udina._

* * *

[120 hours later]

[Theseus System, outer edges]

Joker's hissing sigh imitated an open crack in the Normandy's canopy. "Great. Just when I thought we'd left them behind. How many of those things are there?"

Shepard silently agreed. The twin _Olympia_ stations positioned over Feros were easily holding their own, but he had no idea if they were capable of keeping up the effort indefinitely. That was their purpose after all, to deter close-planet bombardment. It appeared his guess had been correct: wherever Saren traveled, the geth seemed close behind.

"I mean, did the quarians make them like omni-tools?" Joker continued. "Make a new one every time the thing got a scratch? Come on, there has to be some kind of limit."

The question, although rhetorical, seemed to be uniquely suited for an educational moment, given the presence of both Ashley and Liara in the cockpit. A juncture between economic and military theory, neither of which might be aware. Teaching felt natural, educating the blind spots of others without the press of combat. So, Shepard turned his attention half-way to the two women standing near the back of the cockpit, watching the same skies. "Not necessarily, Joker. Given enough programming, a sufficiently advanced system could theoretically grow without limit, like bacteria." He pointed at the geth dropships hovering just out of the twin battle-station's firepower. "Take one of those ships, figure roughly a thousand humanoid platforms. If each were given the right tools, they could create a mine, refinery, and a factory. The factory builds nothing but factory-building machines, and so on. Exponential growth, and time, could turn an entire planetoid into an army of platforms. Once the planet is converted – move on to another one."

The pilot glanced back at him. "Well aren't you Mister Cheery all of a sudden."

He shrugged. "It's a pretty common fear among strategists. Fortunately, no one has the resources to do that." The swarm of geth ships loomed in the distance, making runs towards the planet's surface only to break away as glowing arcs of sheer energy rose to meet them. Both actions held the appearance of long rehearsal, the dance between two partners. "Yet."

"Quarian engineering was once considered to be the apex of its kind," Liara commented softly. Her own eyes were glued to the same scene, but focused on the titanic structures fending off the geth. "It was once said that if you desired something built, you went to three peoples: the asari for inspiration, salarians for its design and the quarians to have it made. No one could make such works of lasting endurance like the quarians. Their fleets were considered the most powerful in the galaxy, until their creations rebelled."

The distant lightshow flickered, as another attack threw itself against the battle-stations. To Shepard's knowledge, there had been very few actual fleet actions involving station warfare; it was widely considered futile to attack shields powered by the dark heart of a black hole. The Hawking Engines, humanity's gift to galactic tactics, provided a power supply that equaled that of an Eezo engine, without the static production. Combine the endurance of a Hawking engine with the mass-altering properties of an eezo power supply, and the potential applications seemed endless.

 _Hah_. The once-distant concept shattered at the sight before his eyes. _I suppose it was inevitable._

"Ashley," he kept his eyes on the scene, watching the dropships for patterns. "Which squad is on rotation today?"

"Alpha squad, sir," the chief responded promptly. "Charlie and Delta are training right now, but I could pull them up for duty."

He considered the idea, then discarded it. "Good thought, but let them train – is it light duty? I have a feeling they'll be needed soon."

The clicking of her omni-tool assured him of the immediacy of his request being carried out. "Target practice with Vakarian, and a small class in tech warfare with Engines." The omni-tool whispered shut; "Sir, did you know the geth were going to be here? I mean, the training didn't start until just after Plutus."

Shepard focused on a dropship, watching it dive under a sweeping firestorm of electrical energy, then rise in a steep climb. "They want to become the best. Electronic warfare isn't just about geth, but it helps. Hackett suspects, and I agree, that Saren and the geth are working together. Whether that means we'll find geth at every place Saren's shown his ugly face, I don't know, but the training won't hurt."

She gave him a satisfied nod. "Understood, sir."

He waited until she departed, and took another long look at the planet far below. Planetary infiltration was a risky business by any stretched definition. The life-giving spheres were, by nature, inhospitable to the action itself; a crucial trait in allowing its own life-forms to develop. Casual entry of any extra-terrestrial object would spell doom to any fledgling sparks of life after all.

"Doctor T'Soni," he didn't turn from his observations. "What can you tell me of Feros?"

The asari shifted in place. "Feros is a class two garden world, according to the Citadel classification. It has an atmosphere approximately six times greater than the standard, and a gravity a fraction lighter than standard." Her voice became animated, "The interesting part is how nearly seventy percent of the inhabitable portions are covered in Prothean ruins. I applied to do a survey after my Therum investigation was complete, but have not yet received permission. Fascinating!"

"Doctor," Shepard let a little warning enter his tone, "Focus."

"Oh, of course, sorry." The embarrassment even reached her voice, making Shepard close his eyes in a silent plea for patience. "The Prothean ruins on Feros range from the Second to Fifth Age, but no one has been to the ground-level surface as of yet. To my knowledge, only the upper portions of the ruins have been thoroughly surveyed, since the atmospheric pressure is acceptable for most beings at that point. Most of the structures appear abandoned and destroyed, as if hit by an orbital attack, and the readings I have been reviewing indicate the planet to be much warmer than it once was. Perhaps as much as fifteen degrees colder roughly thirty thousand years ago."

From a distance, Shepard couldn't see the fabled cities covering the planet's surface. If it had still been inhabited, he would have expected to see light from the dark side of the planet, showing patterns of streets and major population centers. "How about the moons?"

She switched focus adroitly, "Orcan and Vardet. They appear to make up for the lack of ocean-level marine tectonics, but that means frequent earthquakes are present on Feros ground-level. The building methods the Protheans used are remarkable, to have lasted so long under such adverse conditions!"

"Are there any Prothean colony remains on the moons? Any data repositories?" Shepard turned away from the canopy at last, focusing on her blue eyes.

She blinked at his sudden attention. "Um, not that I know of, I do not think the Alliance would broadcast that kind of information."

"Damn right they wouldn't," Joker grumbled from his seat. "Bunch of paranoid, schizophrenic morons. Ah, sir."

Shepard ignored the pilot, heading back towards the CIC. Technicians made way for him, maintaining an efficient pattern even as he passed through their midst. Their position's importance rivaled that of the engineers down by the drive core; while the core may have been the _Normandy's_ heart, the CIC was the brain. It was the tip of the nervous system, receiving all sensor data, shunting it across the entirety of the ship through kilometers of cable.

The massive projection holding a place of honor at the center of the display shifted as he approached, shimmering from a three-dimensional model of the _Normandy_ to a scale map of their surroundings. From a distance, Feros appeared to be a sphere the size of a man's hand, with a pair of ovoid shapes hovering above its mass. Flecks of crimson swirled through the gaps of the three silhouettes, ascending towards the _Olympia_ stations and falling back.

"Pressley, talk to me." Shepard stopped just shy of the ramp where the older man stood.

The Navigator shifted the projection, moving the viewpoint outwards. "Commander, we have almost enough data. I know why the colony hasn't been calling for help."

Shepard gestured to continue as Ashley and Liara reached his side. "Go ahead."

Pressley gave a long look at the interested - looking asari, but continued. "The geth appear to have placed a series of specialized platforms around the Relay. I don't know the technology, but it appears to be acting like a Foucault cage. Signals are reaching the area, then … diverted."

"Interesting tactic," he murmured to himself. "Ashley, Liara, have you heard of anything like this?"

Liara gave one elegant shrug, "Not in my field of study, no."

Pressley stepped forwards, regaining his attention. "There's more, Commander. Sensors are indicating approximately fifteen geth warships, two of which are dreadnought class. I'm double checking the results now, but there may be over a thousand active drones out there."

"A thousand?" Shepard glared at the projection, "That few for a synthetic race? They could have millions out there, billions. Why only a thousand?"

A chirping alert drew the Navigator's attention. "Excuse me sir, sensor sweep is complete. Should I carry on?"

Shepard gazed at the map worriedly, pushing the information through his mind. It just doesn't make sense. _Geth have the capacity to make a trillion platforms; they don't need money, stocks, finances. Why are they doing this?_ The thought rotated, offering another angle. _Saren has something they want. Access to ancient data, perhaps? Reaper data? If he offered advanced data to the geth though, why would they throw so few resources around at his command?_

"Commander?" Pressley's voice broke into his concentration.

"What? Oh, yes. Send it as soon as you can, with my compliments." Shepard shook his head distractedly. That wouldn't do, not at all. Reaching back, he tapped the omni-tool command override. "Joker, pull away from the Relay, ready to drop stealth. I want to launch the FTL buoy as soon as possible. ETA?"

 _"Roger that Commander."_ Joker's voice responded with gratifying promptness. _"We'll be out of infrared in less than three minutes. I'd give it another few klicks just to be certain, then I'll drop the thingy. Alright?"_

"Make it so," Shepard dropped the link. Contrary to most modes of thought, the _Normandy's_ stealth systems didn't have to be locked on at every moment within enemy territory. Heat signatures were undetectable at sufficient ranges, given the background radiation of the entire universe being flung about. Getting 'cooked' was only a problem in close combat distances, 'knife-fight' proximity. Having not used the Relay to enter the system – announcing its presence with the typical 'flare' – allowed the _Normandy_ to emerge from stealth; a tactical advantage he'd have to write up in the next report.

 _More paperwork. Just what I need._ But still, an important advantage. Council ships needed Relays to travel between jumps, while Alliance vessels could arrive anywhere they wished … at a later time.

The minutes dragged past, as if tenaciously clinging to every second. Shifting the projected map's focus gave him a view of the _Normandy_ in relation to the Relay, its comparatively miniscule form inching away at sublight velocities.

 _"Dropping stealth in five … four … three …"_ Joker's words caused a flurry of actions around the CIC. One entire half of the twenty foot bank of computers pulsed, its operators re-engaging safeties over thermal sinks. The process was automated, but like the ancient missile silos of pre-FTL era, human operators were required in case of error. One misfired burst would render the entire ship catatonic, dead in space without propulsion.

 _"Buoy away. Rabbiting out in three … two … one …."_ The force of another object jumping past lightspeed so close to their position, despite its diminutive size, made the _Normandy's_ hull resonate a deep musical thrum. Science decreed such a thing should not be possible, and yet it kept occurring.

Shepard eyed the map. No geth units had displayed knowledge of their presence so far. He wanted to keep it that way. "Joker, bring us about fifty degrees starboard, and full stop. I want our main guns facing the geth."

 _"Aye sir,"_ the tiny image slowed gracefully, swapping ends in a perfect tumble. The main engines glowed, reducing their momentum to a full stop.

"Excellent work." Shepard didn't bother to hide a satisfied expression. "We'll wait here until Hackett arrives. Until then, monitor every Alliance frequency on the list. I want ears on every frequency between amateur radio to asari encryptions; if the scrubbers pick up anything useful, make certain I know." He glanced through the technicians, "Clear?"

"Clear, sir." The head technician saluted without moving from his position.

Shepard nodded again, feeling the sense of satisfaction grow. Other captains put much value on following every rule in the textbook. Saluting after every exchange, standing to attention, getting up to address a superior officer. That was all well and good, but disruptive. Getting a crew working in humming order, becoming a seamless machine, took trust. Here, the crew was at long last feeling comfortable enough to operate _without_ jumping to attention every time he walked past.

He gave the crew operating the _Normandy's_ passive sensors another approving glance, and gestured at Ashley. She fell into step, a half pace behind and to his right. "What is the status of our weapons, Chief?"

Her omni-tool fired up again, but she spoke before its resolution completed, raising his opinion of her yet again. "We're fit to fight, sir. Two rifles are defunct, blown ess-cee's in the eezo chamber. But we have enough spares to get through until repairs are done. Power armor is at one-hundred percent; ready to roll out."

"And the Mako?" Mobile armor would be crucial to attacks on geth.

"One hundred percent ready," her tone became more clipped. "Vakarian has been working on its calibrations, says the accuracy should be improved ten percent on our next engagement."

Good. More accuracy was always better, unless shotguns were involved. He shuddered, _shotguns_ … the quintessential answer to medium-range combat. Whether it meant building-to-building CQC, or clearing out a vipers nest at range, shotguns were admittedly exceptional. That didn't mean he had to like them. Loud, inaccurate monstrosities, inelegant in every respect that mattered, weapon of choice for thugs and unskilled slavers alike. _Granted_ , he grudgingly tried to balance the mental equation, _Wrex can make a shotgun look like artwork. A few of my boys can too – not as good as he can, but give 'em a few centuries. Or some talent and training. Maybe Tali too, built a boom tube out of scrap metal and an eezo chamber, so … useful. But … loud. Efficient, but ugly._

"Earth to Shepard, come in Shepard …" snapping fingers brought him back to the present. "Thought I lost you for a second."

Shepard lifted one side of his mouth, amused. "Still present and no accounting for it. Continue, please."

The chief pulled up her list, reading off the readiness reports for the individual squads. She was doing well, taking to his suggestions like a duck to water. Whomever had stuck her in a colonial training position had vastly underestimated her capabilities. She'd even taught _him_ a trick or two in hand-to-hand.

"That should cover it for the next two weeks. I have a schedule worked out for more advanced sessions when you're ready to look it over," she finished. "It's no ITC course, but it should work for now."

Shepard hummed agreement. "Field work doesn't require some of the training. Paperwork might become necessary later on, but I have enough experience in that for a few classes." His head turned as they passed the quartermaster, whom seemed ecstatic to be hip-deep in requests. "Remind me to ask the quarians for a communication session. My last briefing is a few months out of date."

"Commander," Liara ventured. He jumped; she'd come out of nowhere. "May I ask a question?"

He exchanged looks with Ashley. _Civilians._ "Certainly. What may I help you with?"

She traced her foot along the flooring, "Well, I noticed that you almost never look us in the face. I do not mean to be rude, but is that a training technique? Perhaps a method for managing a ship? I must admit, there was little I could find on short notice, but it is a fascinating behavior I have rarely witnessed before."

Shepard blinked; no one had called him out quite so blatantly before. While they appeared to be disinterested, he knew his crew was listening closely. He could even see that technician, Caswell, adjusting his screen to a more opaque setting – all the better to listen without being spotted. Amateur, perhaps, but nonetheless effective. _Idiot, she's waiting for an answer. What do you tell her?_

"Good observation," he was surprised, both at speaking, and how his voice held so steady. "Actually, it's more of a practice I've adopted. Nothing to special, just different from some."

This time, Ashley interrupted. "Aye, sir. Um, sir, is that your alert?"

Shepard checked his omni-tool. Its alarm function blinked a cheerful orange color, shot through with green highlights. That meant a _very_ special call, and not a moment too soon. "Ah. Yes, yes it is. Carry on Ashley, I'll take this in my cabin.

* * *

24 hours earlier

[Ambassador Quarters, Citadel]

The room, so comforting in its warm darkness, suddenly had an eerie sensation. As if the room were ... watching him. Judging. And finding him wanting. The feeling was not something he had become accustomed too, especially since his promotion to Ambassador.

 _Granted, at least one of the three Councilors views me as an interloper, but what Shepard can do will put shame to that._ Thinking aloud invited espionage, only fools believed their compatriots were completely trustworthy. Any politician knew that. _It's a pity Hackett and Anderson resisted so long; a quicker resolution would have demonstrated my influence ... or perhaps it is for the better? Showing we are fair and impartial, even under the weight of such potential benefit? Never mind, yesterday's showing should put me back on even terms._

Giving up the attempt to sleep as a poor effort with minimal returns, Udina began his morning ablutions. As with everything else, each movement had purpose. The swinging motion that sent his legs off the too-thin mattress designed for turians had enough excess momentum to counter-balance his upper body. The slippers next to the foot of his bed, placed exactly where he would note their presence, alerted the personal shower of his activity as he pushed them on.

Refreshed a refreshing session in the shower, and sated with a healthy breakfast, Udina felt himself once more in the mental framework required for his duties. With the ease of habit, he made the journey to the Human Embassy. As per normal, his journey included a few minor stops along the route, all the better to demonstrate the beneficial potential of his race. _Ah, yes. A stop at the coffee shop should be an excellent example._ He fondly remembered the time several years prior, when Ambassador Goyle had invited both himself and the Salarian Councilor to the grand opening, a little meet and greet to help the new ambassador get to know the powers involved. _Neither of us dreamed how popular a simple beverage would become. The reports I've had from earth indicate salarians are beginning to ask for intensive training,_ apprenticing _themselves just to learn barista technique ... amazing._ This was again an example of how a small action that created enormous waves. Even now, salarians were purchasing vast quantities of the bean, signing contracts just to grow the plant on their own colonies ... enormous financial, not to mention social, capital _. Just think of the potential leverage we will gain from this T'Soni contract! If Shepard can exert his influence on T'Soni, the Alliance could earn enough to purchase a dozen dreadnoughts, made of gold!_

Mentally, he scolded himself. _Not 'if,' but 'when.' He's a soldier, always has been always will. Losing the mental fortitude to an asari? No, Humanity will prosper greatly from this._

He ended his trip with the usual greetings for the asari greeter— _why post an asari at the human embassy? Are we that mistrusted by the galaxy? A sign of prestige?_ – which had the standard felicitations. The usual walk up the thirteen steps once more triggered the wonderment he'd always known, curious how the Protheans had similar physiological structure, yet alien minds. _They couldn't have been that different from us. Look at the asari, they are completely understandable. turian, volus, even the hanar can be understood. Why can we not understand the Protheans?_

The room was welcoming, as always. A Keeper trundled out of sight, just beyond the corner. Udina ignored the faint clicking sounds emanating from its direction. His first introduction to the Keepers hadn't been an auspicious one, resulting in a rapidly-expanding pool of acid, and a hefty fine. Fortunately for his interactive needs, a heavyset serviceman was crouched in front of an open panel, probably assisting in modifying the room to human comfort levels. At least, Udina hoped so … the short, twenty-hour days were bad enough as it was.

Two quick steps, and his chair sank invitingly beneath him. Comfortable, that is, until something pinched, painfully sharp.

With an exclamation, Udina leapt up, spinning to examine the seat for the culprit. A miniscule gleaming met his gaze. Curiosity overpowering his pain, he picked it up. It was a curious thing, a small glittering object, broad and flat on one end, a metallic liquid, partially filling a plastic rod, sharpened to a point. _Odd. What is this?_

Setting the object on his desk for future examination, he resumed his seat once more, only to be met with a second sharp pain. This time he merely sighed, rather than setting another seated-leaping record. Another search revealed a second similar object. Rather than risk more pain, he continued searching, finding a third. And a fourth. Sighing in exasperation, Udina pushed the chair to one side, grabbing the next one nearest to him. His omni-tool flickered while he put in a requisition order, and then went dark. Along with all the lights in his office.

 _Idiots. Warn a fellow when a Keeper is headed for the pulse controls, all right? They should have sensors for those things. Or shields. Or something._

Udina leaned back in his chair, exhaling heavily. Even though he'd slept a full five hours, he felt exhausted for some reason. _Moronic 20 hour days. Why can't they adjust it for something more reasonable? I can't get all my work done without the full twenty-four, can I?_

He sighed. Coffee would make it all better. The elephant sitting on his arm was making it difficult to … elephant?

 _Wait. Why can't I move?_

Udina tried lifting his left hand to the alarm on his desk. It slowly obeyed, rising like some prehistoric monster, cumbersome under its own weight. As it rose, the appendage grew heavier, every inch gaining more and more weight. Finally, his arm couldn't take it, and flopped aimlessly.

 _Gravity is offline. There has to be a major issue going now._ A thought struck him with the force of a free-falling Kodiak shuttle. _I hope they remember to get me out, death by gravity is not something I would like to experience._

Faint scraping noises by the door sounded like music to his ears. _Of course! The elcor embassy is just down the hall! If anyone can survive a high-gravity environment …._

The door opened with a faint hiss. Someone large stood on the other side, black against the bright pseudo-daylight outside. Someone distinctly non-elcor in shape.

 _It's localized, then._ Hope flailed for support when the human-shaped figure stepped into the room, unaffected by the same heaviness that pulled Udina's limbs towards the floor.

"Udina."

The voice was familiar, the same tones coming from a man that he'd helped leverage into one of the most important positions Humanity would ever possess. Udina grunted, trying to speak past the lump in his throat. Somehow, his speech had left too, along with the standard gravity. _Why is this happening? Shepard! Get me out of here!_

He listened in mounting horror as the man he'd given the world shut and locked the door, then began dimming the windows. Even the wide-open balcony dimmed, victim to a shutter-door Udina had installed for safety reasons. The chair he'd abandoned in lieu of his current seat scraped on the floor, and he could hear rustling cloth for a moment. Then Shepard spoke again.

"So then. You found them, perhaps you were even jabbed by one or two?" The man's face, strangely fuzzy, moved into Udina's field of view, looking uncommonly cold, staring at him directly in the eye. "Don't bother trying to talk. It annoys me whenever your lips move these days."

Udina glared impotently at the military upstart. He could move his eyes, although the motion was sluggish. Detail was indistinct as well, but he knew the skin color and the speaking mannerisms better than anyone outside the arrogant jumpstart's squad. It was Shepard all right.

"I'll get the banal details out of the way. The _Normandy_ is well away from the Citadel, investigating a report on Saren's money trail at Feros without tipping anyone off. I am currently with the _Normandy_ , and heading the investigation." The commander paused to throw a mocking salute to the ambassador. "I am in two places at once. Because I'm special."

Udina froze. Shepard had almost never been so ... so ... flippant before. Two interrogation recordings, acquired only with a great deal of browbeating, had demonstrated similar behavior. But here? Now?

 _You said you were a friend, Shepard. What are you doing?_ Realization started churning, deep in his stomach. Shepard had steel blue eyes, but rarely looked anyone in the face. He'd assumed the man used the tactic to make people underestimate him, a fake limp would do the same thing, but was easily seen. Right now, Shepard was staring at him with all the intensity of a snake, hypnotizing its prey.

"To continue," the soldier lazily picked up one of the sharpened objects, "These lovely little beauties are modified versions of something once known as 'thumb tacks.' At one point, they were very common, used as a staple posting fixative, and practical joke material." Shepard glanced at the chair, "I believe you got the _point_. Don't want to be too _sharp_ about it, but making those was somewhat _taxing_ on my capabilities."

It took a moment, but the wordplay filtered through. _Puns. Good lord, he's making puns._

"Long story short, I acquired some rather exotic _Bishmeistan_ venom from Sur'Kesh, last time I was there. Potent stuff, similar to the dendotoxins in the _elapidae_ family back on earth." He paused, "That is to say, the mamba family. Wonderful creatures, fastest of their breed, deadly too. Thing is, the _Bishmeistan_ is closer to a spider than a snake, so it has to be somewhat more efficient. Colony arthropod, you know, have to bag larger prey for the home. Wife, and ten thousand hungry mouths to feed, you know?"

Udina shivered.

"As for the power outage, I've been able to gain some insight as to Keeper methodology. I believe I am one of the first people ever in that regard. Well, second, thanks to a little salarian the mighty Council ignored. Kinda like I'm the first human Spectre." Rage hardened the big man's voice. "Or the first victim of an asari/human marriage contract. Possibly the target of some asari Furies. A lot of firsts, although perhaps not the first in that last one."

"Now to the important question: why am I here, and why am I doing this?"

Udina focused on Shepard's face, attempting to convey his puzzlement.

"You may recall a little meeting the Council conducted over the _Normandy's_ conference transmitter." Shepard affected overly exaggerated shock, contorting his face and hands in a comic fashion. "The one letting me know that, surprise! I'm engaged!" His hands waved theatrically. "Great news! Right?"

Udina blinked slowly. The memory vaguely rang a bell, it had been nearly a week prior, and things had been exceedingly busy. Then it clicked, he'd seen Ander- Captain Anderson speaking with Shepard, and had hurried to get Andersons assistance to take advantage of the situation. It had indeed been a windfall week; asari corporations were much more likely to promote an even playing field, once they'd learned that a premier human representative was being linked to one of the oldest asari families.

Udina smiled. There had been volus representatives sending 'tokens of esteem' directly to his office, all in effort to ensure their business transactions received 'proper consideration.' Salarians had been practically _ricocheting_ between their offices and his own, desperate to keep their superior business positions. A good thing, all around.

Shepard leaned on his fists, letting his face drift a few inches from Udina's. The deep anger within his eyes was clearly visible, the deep blue color almost vibrating in intensity. "You see, I've fought long and hard for the freedom of the Alliance. Of humanity. But before I fought for such abstract concepts, I fought for something simple: _family_. Against _slavers_." He pulled back, gaining more distance from the ambassador, but growing colder.

"I fought against enslavement my entire life, for the right to determine my own path. But choices keep being made for me. My choice for a lifelong partner rejected me, because I could kill without remorse, because I failed to save her family. But then, I killed because the batarians left me no choice." He spun on one heel, falling back into the chair, careless of the groaning creak it made under his weight. "I entered the Alliance military because it was either that, or going vigilante; again no choice, although understandable. My social life is non-existent, because I work hard. I made myself the best, because I am still searching for those whom are still missing. No choice. No one else will. So I do."

Shepard stretched his back, making it pop before sitting down once more and putting his feet up on the desk. "On the other hand, I have had nothing but choices to make. I chose to enter the Alliance. I choose to obey orders. In order to become an officer, I chose to get a degree in biology, the better to determine weak points in any living being I came across. And then, just as I receive the best assignment of my life, to roam the galaxy ridding it of pathetic garbage like the trash that burned my home and then ..." the feet came down with a light, catlike thump. "You happened."

Udina tried to raise a hand again, reach the button he so desperately wanted to push.

His former friend took no notice, unwrapping a small silvery piece of paper. "Interesting fact: everyone thinks I chew some form of addictive substance. Performance enhancers, brain boosters, shoot." He chuckled. "I once read a Forbe's column on how my success could be directly correlated to," he raised both hands in mocking air quotes, "my 'deft use of supplements.' Truth is," he popped the small white rectangle into his mouth, "I like peppermint. It's a nice flavor that batarians hate, gets the morning taste out of my mouth, and relaxes me for some reason. But enough side notes."

Shepard's voice took on qualities better associated with the space between stars. Colder than ice, darker than night. "To the main point: You sold me for trade concessions or some such thing. You didn't ask me to volunteer. The Alliance never had the ability to sign away my rights. And I _certainly_ didn't give you any sort of permission to find me a wife." If ire were a power, Udina would have been incinerated within seconds. "Therefore, you are clearly either over-exaggerating your supposed influence over me, or have allowed the power to go to your head, and expect me to be a good little soldier and do what I'm told."

The pause emphasized the lack of sound in the room. Nothing, not even the constant hum of air scrubbers could be heard.

"The thing is," Shepard grinned, without the action reaching his eyes, "I'm not a soldier. I'm an N7. Not only that, but I am an Omega grade."

Udina felt his heart begin racing. _I badly miscalculated this. He's going to kill me. With his skills, he could make it look like an accident too. No, he won't kill me, he wouldn't be talking otherwise. Blackmail? Threats? Resolve hardened his heart. I sacrificed a great deal too. He's had nearly a decade to get over Mindoir, plus however much money they wouldn't turn over to the Alliance. This is for the good of Humanity, can't he understand that?_

"My initial reaction was to do to you what I did to the Hegemony High Ambassador to the Raloi." Shepard continued, ignorant of the ambassador's internal dialogue. He paused, and gave a bone-chilling laugh. "Oh, I'd forgotten. _That_ one was classified higher than you can count. Without toes and fingers, anyway." The chilling feel didn't vanish as Shepard winked. "All I'll say is that it involved a boot knife and a pocket full of marbles. And no one was the wiser."

Udina stopped thinking. He remembered that one, the Alliance had been accused by everyone and their brother's dog for committing a "barbaric atrocity." Only the proof of no Alliance personnel in the system for over two years had quieted things down … except for the STG, of course. But then, they thought the lack of evidence was evidence. What had been so upsetting about the death, was how little there had been left of the High Ambassador ... his murderer was allegedly quite creative.

"I don't like repeating myself though." Shepard pulled out another piece of gum, popping it into his mouth. "Of course, I could just use something close at hand, make it look spur-of-the-moment." He paused, lifting his hand in front of Udina's nostrils. "Or I could do it the old-fashioned way, barely any trace, and no gummy mess to clean up." He removed his hand. Unaware that he'd been holding his breath, Udina resumed breathing, louder than before.

"But, I had a long chat with a few of the aliens on board my ship. About things like, 'not worth killing,' and 'due process.'"

Udina silently resolved to find some way to reward each and every alien aboard the _Normandy_. Even if he had to make it up extemporaneously.

"I decided to look up some old reference material, and I found it. An old copy of General Von Clausewitz's _On War_." Shepard put his arms behind his neck, staring at the ceiling and quoted: "War is politics, in a new field." He glanced back at the ambassador. "I figure, the reverse is true, no? Politics is war, in a new field." He stood, eyes flashing. "Well, I'm not good at politics. But I _am_ good at war. I won't play your kind of politics, but I'll play my own. Which reminds me, I owe you something." He reached into a pocket, pulling out a velvet pouch that clinked in his palm.

The bag bounced once, making small, silver objects jangle onto his desk, clattering to a halt across the tablets. One fell off, rolling away to parts unknown. Udina managed to see its surface, just before it fell. It had a strange symbol stamped on one side, with a second symbol embossed over it. He looked at Shepard questioningly.

"The way I see it, you are owed something for the trouble you went through, selling me off to the highest bidder like you did. That's the compensation for your pains. Thirty pieces of silver. I understand it's the going rate, historically."

Shepard walked towards the door. "Be on your toes, Udina. I owe you far more than that. I'll be visiting again, soon."

Udina finally managed to gain some control over his tongue. "I … didn't … want … to …."

The solitary figure turned back. "But you did it anyway."

"No … choice!" Udina forced out. "Only … way … to advance … goals. No … other … way."

Shepard's silhouette stood still, facing him. Udina could only just make out the gleam of the elite soldier's eyes, glittering in the darkness. He felt small, like a small rodent, yet angry. _I did my best to change things, but I got overruled! Understand that you thickheaded fool!_

The door hissed open, then closed again. No sign of anyone remained. After a moment, the lights ignited, as if they'd never been darkened, followed by the sudden return of the windows transparent nature. Bright sunshine, even if artificial in nature, poured in … Udina automatically raised a hand to shield his eyes. _I can move? But how …_ a slightly acrid smell finally registered. _Antidote, atmosphere delivery? Where did he get his hands on these things?_

Seconds later, the door slid open, and a short, pudgy man entered, tool belt strapped around his hips rakishly. "Sorry Ambassador, got a report of camera failure from C-Sec. I was going to be here earlier, but my work orders got messed up somehow. Bug in the main computer, I guess. Mind if I look around?"

Udina's anger turned to worry. Absently, he waved the man on to whatever he was doing, it was useless, now that Shepard had delayed the check. That delay meant power, and a far greater attention to detail he'd come to expect from the bloody-minded fool. _What about the money transfers? I can cover it from other sources, but … if he starts looking through more files, stops payments …_ he started hyperventilating.

* * *

[Present]

[Theseus System, outer edges]

Aboard the _Normandy_ , Shepard shut the door to his cabin, and checked the time. The clock on the wall pulsed rhythmically, ticking down the seconds until the next emergency. If it had the decency to be scheduled, that was.

His omni-tool vibrated on his wrist, a tiny light glowing a verdant color. Shepard smiled, locking his door, setting up the electronic counter-measures he'd developed himself. Whoever or whatever the shadow organization was out there, it had given him advance warning, if only by accident. No sense wasting the opportunity.

"Pendragon here."

The omni-tool changed to a uniform green color, before a dim face showed itself. _"Pretty presumptuous, taking that name, isn't it?"_

Shepard shrugged. "Emrys was taken."

 _"I bet it was. So what does that make me, Kay?"_

"No, I already have a Kaiden." Shepard chuckled. "Perhaps, Galahad?"

 _"Ha. Anyway, the job is done. Udina looked like he was going to need a new suit by the time I was finished. The man can sweat!"_

"Like a butcher." Shepard agreed darkly. "Listen, thanks for your help. Your wife or kids need anything?"

The voice laughed. _"After the 'care packages' we've received? That communications company is making us a land-office business. You sure you don't want it?"_

"I don't need it. Not like I've been spending much anyway. Did those tacks help?"

 _"Like a charm. You'll have to tell me how you got those someday."_ The voice on the other side had smug overtones, so like his own after a successful mission.

"Maybe someday. Would you be willing to do a repeat soon?"

 _"I kinda promised the weasel I would. Don't want to renege on a promise, would I? 'sides, the way we have this set up, I bet you we could get your ghost to terrify him."_

Shepard grinned. The idea had merit. "Something to work on later. I'm sending a care package through the Volus Courier Network, make sure the kids get their toys, alright?"

 _"Will do. By the way, Udina tried to say the whole thing wasn't his fault, something about how the goals wouldn't achieved or some such nonsense."_

That stopped Shepard cold. Udina was one of the most powerful individuals in the galaxy, let alone the Alliance. _Being forced into actions against his will … or was it truly against his will? I don't know. Better watch him._

"Thanks … I'll keep an eye on the situation." Shepard finally said. One of his alerts started blinking, notifying him of another incoming communication. He smirked at the screen. "Stay frosty."

The screen blanked, leaving him in semi-darkness. It was comforting, knowing someone had his back, no matter what. So long as no one suspected … everything would be fine. But if anything threatened his family … no. The thought didn't bear thinking. He shoved himself back to the present, clicking the intercom on. "Shepard here."

 _"Commander, Admiral Hackett sent a return buoy. We've recovered it and are moving position in case, you know, the geth saw the burst."_

Shepard nodded. Every supra-lightspeed hop could be nearly silent when leaving, but had the tendency to release a massive Checkov radiation pulse when entering Newtonian space once more. "Understood Joker. I'm headed to the bridge right now.

* * *

 **A/N:** Yay! Two chapters in a month! Well, technically 0.5 chapters, since I've had the second half of this chapter on the memory banks for nearly 10 months now. It's survived 2 computer crashes, deletions, and a few dopey maneuvers by yours truly … thank God for redundant storage technology! Thanks to Nightstride for his stellar beta work; excellent suggestions, and great spot checking!

Today's suggested reading is _Dancer in the Dark_ by ElectricZ (story code: 12062078). An ongoing tale from a fantastic author! Seriously, the best Kasumi writer I've ever had the pleasure to read.

To my favorite Lurker, **Jotun** : Yes, Albanian a great language! Unfortunately I'm only moderately bilingual, thanks to reqs for my degrees, and not in Albanian. Blame Google Translate for what I couldn't hash out of the dictionary. I've been looking for more evil-ish Albanian terms, but nothing quite brings in the same flavor … but I'll keep looking. It actually goes back to the first chapter in this tale, so I'd checked to make sure I wasn't leaving something out. It's not perfect, but it'll do until inspiration shows up and clocks me again. Thank you for your suggestions, they will be seriously kept in mind.

And to all the lurkers and reviewers, thanks for reading, and thanks for reviewing! If you want to see something in the tale, I can't guarantee it, but not suggesting it is an automatic 'no.' Yes?

C'ya down the lane!


	17. Bones of Titans

_I had a welcome break the other day. Serena introduced me to a wonderful snack she calls Tilafen. I call it Asari cheesecake. It is a delicate substance, rich, sweet and – of course – blue. A majority of Sarian products take advantage of their coloration to emphasize how exclusive they are._

 _In turn, I introduced her to a blueberry trifle. It's beginning to become a kind of competition now._

 _Needless to say, we are both needing to hit the gym more often._

 _Dr. Arnold Pavenmeyer_

 _~Project_ _Ragnarök_ _Files_

* * *

Shepard stood at the CIC main panel, watching. Waiting. Most predators turned such an activity into an art form, whether by blending with the surroundings or making a point of not becoming one with the scenery. The cockpit held a perfect position for that line of thought, at least to his way of thinking. Outside the transparent layer, a myriad dots of light studded the velvet black layer of deep space, like gems. The bare eye could make out tiny flickers darting around the planet far off, and witness the deep colors of nebula ordinarily leeched by atmosphere. It made him feel like a bird of prey, surveying its domain from some inestimably lofty perch, talon and wing poised to attack.

Deceptively peaceful, that was certain. "Joker, sitrep."

"Nothing's changed, Commander. They're still making the same runs."

That made him smile. The sheer efficiency of the artificial mind was its greatest asset over an organic mind, but also its greatest flaw. Without undue cause to change, it would repeat the same action indefinitely. No visible threats gave a false security, or at the least, no perceived reason to change a perfectly efficient process. _Just because you can't see me doesn't mean I'm not here_. "Fire the message in the aft launcher, signal the fleet."

"Aye sir. Firing now."

The _Normandy_ quivered again, absorbing the excess energy from the proximal light-speed jump. "Torpedo away, ready to maneuver on your orders."

He drew himself up, striding back to the CIC where the bridge crew awaited his order. Every fiber of his being urged him to order the attack, wait for nothing – pausing in a fight gave enemies the victory more often than not. But before the fight could be joined, there were formalities to observe, now that this was no longer a simple reconnaissance mission. Straightening to an almost parade rest, he turned to Navigator Pressley who, as tradition demanded, stood just beside his station. "Commander Pressley, is the _Normandy_ ready for battle?"

The elderly man performed a perfectly returned salute, reciting the formal response. "The _Normandy_ is ready for battle sir. At your command."

"Very good." Shepard stepped forwards in the command center, leaning onto the railing, hands splayed at shoulder-width. "Helm, activate stealth countermeasures, enter their scanning range. Charge all batteries, load all missile bays. Battle stations."

Red lights began blinking along the lower portions of the walls, pulsating in time with the low-toned audio alarm. Wet navies had proven the concept centuries before; three forms of alarm, in case one or two were impeded. The hum of the deck beneath his feet brought a smile to his face; it felt as if the metal and circuits of the Normandy itself responded to his call, eager for battle. _Easy girl,_ he stroked the rail under his grip. _Blood will be yours soon enough. Just a little longer._

Stars swirled around the screens with feeds to the external cameras, relaying their shifting position more accurately than his own sense of balance ever could. On the projection just ahead of his watchful gaze, the imitation _Normandy_ accelerated, charging towards Feros. Tiny bits of information scrolled along the digital representative of the ship, available should he feel the need to study the operating parameters in more detail. Further ahead, in the direct path of the frigate, countless tiny red dots spun in complex gyrations. What exactly they were doing didn't matter; just the fact that their movements were predictable was enough … for him, anyway. Between his experiences, the tactical analysis team on the _Normandy_ , and the algorithms provided by the quarians, analyzing geth patterns changed from impossible to manageable.

 _"We'll be in position in two minutes, Commander,"_ Joker's voice emanated through his earpiece. _"Nothing from the fleet yet."_

"Steady as she goes," Shepard responded. Trust was the most valuable currency in the military; trust in his brothers, trust in his superiors. Once an officer could be discovered worthy of following, he became a guiding light in the fog of war. Admiral Hackett was one of the few that could pull that much respect from him. "They can't see us and they won't hear us. Weapons. Give me targeting solutions on the three most active dropships."

Silent acknowledgement responded, leaving him with nothing to do but watch and wait – yet appear calm. Tense seconds rolled past. He could feel the stiffness in the way his updates jerked into position faster than normal, in the higher pitched voices attempting to hold quiet conversations. In response, he tried relaxing his shoulders, rolling them in a confident manner. Still, the crew appeared tightly wound, hunched before their screens, paying rapt attention to the data as if it were a lifeline.

"A good crew, Pressley. You have done well bringing them together." Shepard surprised himself by addressing the Navigator directly. "The geth won't know what hit them."

The older man visibly relaxed, apparently catching on. "Yessir, thank you sir. We'll send those metal bast – "

 _"Fleet contact in three – two – one – engaging,"_ Joker interrupted from the cockpit. From where Shepard stood, he could see the co-pilot making power adjustments while Joker handled the major ship movements. _"And there we go boys and girls. The Geth may be sneaky, but we time our attacks to the second. Don't forget to tip your driver after the fight."_

Dozens of blue icons lit up the projection, making a steady drive across the system at sub-light speeds. Two massive points near the middle of the formation, the Fifth Fleet's main carriers, moved considerably slower than their compatriots, but erupted in miniscule dots. To the uninitiated, it was a fearsome sight. Carriers, the single greatest contribution the Alliance brought to the intergalactic stage. Turians had begun constructing their own, but didn't possess the easy familiarity humans held. It took time to develop tactics for a vehicle, while different cultures increased the difficulty by nigh exponential levels – carriers were designed to remain out of the fight, a concept something few turians could fathom. The concept of 'victory at any cost,' so deeply embedded in most turians came at odds to the design of the carrier: to carry others to battle but not partake of themselves.

A hoarse baritone came out over the open channels. _"All units, this is Admiral Hackett. Watch your flanks and don't hold back. Feros: we're bringing the pain."_

One of the technicians cocked her head, holding one hand to her earpiece. "Sir, hailing frequencies are all open, requesting immediate emergency assistance."

Shepard kept his gaze on the map, watching. "Clarify."

Her hands returned to the screen. "Distress calls across the board. Several shuttles are en-route from the Fifth. Should we respond?"

He shook his head. "Negative, that's not our job."

"But sir,"

Shepard turned the force of his gaze on her, meeting her eye as best he could. She froze, then turned back down to the screen. "Yessir. Sorry sir."

He watched for a few seconds, then returned to his vigil. It was unpleasant to leave people in the void, but more were risked by following her expected action.

"There," he highlighted one of the geth supply ships, beginning its run. The bulky nature, unimpeded by common aesthetics moved with surprising grace through the contested space, likely bringing more munitions to the larger geth vessels. "Joker, follow that ship. Keep us close and quiet."

 _"Yessir, Follow-the-Leader sir."_

Another voice, Hackett, boomed in over a different set of speakers, attuned to the main fleet channel. _"Second Element, commence attack run. First element, launch all fighters. Third element, give those stations some covering fire. I want a half kilometer clear breathing_ _space on all sides of them."_

The blue dots swirled into three distinct patterns, driving hard for the geth fleets. A fourth group, however, was swarming the Relay, with the red, motionless dots around it.

Shepard ran a quick mental calculation. "Joker, step it up mister! I want us next to that cruiser before the fleet gets there!"

The _Normandy_ shuddered, accelerating. _"Roger that Commander, pushing it up. ETA two minutes, thirty seconds. Buckle up boys and girls, it's going to get a little bumpy!"_

Shepard grunted approval. Seconds later, he straightened again as Pressley spoke up. "Commander, new orders. Hackett wants us to go directly to the colony, full stealth."

"He what?" Shepard gave his Navigator a disbelieving stare. They were less than a minute from blindsiding the geth, breaking their fleet's backbone. Break the spine, kill the fleet. That's how strategy worked in battle. A faint hope rose in his chest. "Comm, can you confirm that transmission?" It seemed wrong, to hope the geth were masking a signal … despite the terrifying potential of geth already knowing about both the Normandy's unique capabilities and secret codes.

The technician shook her head. "Confirmed sir. Orders are authentic."

He muttered under his breath. "Fine. Joker, change course. Make for the landing bay at the Zhu's Hope colony."

 _"Aye sir,"_ The normally quick-witted pilot made no attempt to make a quip, the irritation in Shepard's voice must have been obvious. _"Course change on the board. New ETA thirty minutes and some change."_

Shepard growled under his breath again. That wasn't much time for a complete tactical shift. Not long at all. Growling, he slapped at the inter-ship tab. "Williams, prep the squads. We're going groundside, thirty minutes tops."

If she had been feeling similar frustration, it wasn't evident in her voice. _"Aye sir. I'll relay it on. Will you be here soon?"_

That was the downside, she needed more confidence in commanding groups; losing her squad on Eden Prime couldn't have helped her skills any, plus the almost blatant lack of command positions since her induction to the military. What she really needed was leadership training, and he was stuck teaching her on the fly. Despite the downsides, he had to admit to its effectiveness. It had worked well for himself had it not? "Affirmative Chief. Gearing up here, I should be there in fifteen. Start the briefing without me, and tell Tali that this will be considered the field test for her Sabotage project."

There was the barest of hesitations before she replied. _"Yes, Commander."_

* * *

He took a moment after the channel closed to review. _Feros,_ _ExoGeni founded colony, named Zhu's Hope, small colony, less than three hundred people. Scattered between work site – ExoGeni's building, and the colony proper. Lack of proper defenses around either, but so it goes._ That meant some support, but not enough to count for anything. Negligible weapons repair facilities, so only the sturdy types would be brought the blade, a long rifle, pistol or two, Emp grenades … hopefully Tali had finished the upgrade to the Sabotage software.

An unwelcome voice intruded on his preparations. _"Commander, priority message from the Citadel. The Council wants to talk to you."_

"What? Now?" Shepard finished buckling his greaves, moving up to the pelvic girdle. "I'm making hard contact in less than thirty minutes. Take a message."

He was left alone for another few seconds, and used them to put the utility belt in place, snugging it tight. The primary layer of the plastron went on over that, snapped into position with the carapace. A larger set of Arahne-Kedhar pauldrons would have been more useful in melee engagement, but a smoother set of protection would streamline the armor's power supply. In a battle against geth, shields would be more important than physical layers. Their rate of fire could be described in military terms as … 'continuous.' After that, the eyepiece, giving him an advantage over organics, and equal footing on synthetic.

 _"Commander, they're flagging it 'Urgent.'_ " Joker's voice came back, annoyingly cheerful. _"Sorry, but they really want to chat."_

Shepard growled under his breath. The new sniper rifle clicked into place on his back, just a motion behind the heavy pistol on his thigh. "I will be at the comm room in thirty seconds Joker." He snatched up the _ufbert_ , snapping the sheathe into position on his other thigh. "This had better be important."

Switching frequencies, he keyed in the cargo bay, striding to the door as he talked. "Williams, I have been delayed. Make sure everyone is locked and loaded when I get there; go over placement. Charlie is on recon, Alpha holds the center, Delta takes the offensive."

 _"Aye Commander_ ," she responded. He cut it off before she had a chance to say anything more, opening the pneumatic doors to the communications room. It was only a few seconds from his own cabin, but felt like an eternity away.

Inside, a figure saluted, young Hudson – identified by Shepard's visor with a warning red text – once more. "Sir, systems are fired up and ready to go."

Before Shepard had a chance to speak, the projector itself flared to life. Four ghostly figures appeared above the main lens. His eyepiece made spot-identifications; three Councilors and an Ambassador. Internally, he hid a growl; why did Udina need to be present at every Council interaction? The answer was obvious of course, letting an Alliance soldier speak with the Council unsupervised could be viewed as treason. Probably not, but the principle was the same; understandably, the _Powers That Be_ would not appreciate having one of their most visible members interrogated by the scary aliens.

Understanding did not necessarily lead to acceptance. Or end sarcasm.

"Councilors, Ambassador." He gave the somewhat chubby appearance of the human a light smile, flicking up his gaze to meet with the man's eyes. The other man flinched. This time, Shepard kept the smirk to himself. _Well done. He's scared of me now. Good._

 _"Spectre Shepard. We apologize for contacting you on such short notice. We shall be quick."_ The asari Councilor gave him a polite half-bow. _"I trust all is well?"_

Shepard picked up his gauntlets, slipping the soft inner layers in place. "Well enough. We are over Feros right now, and I will be leading the ground task force within twenty minutes. As you say Councilor, time is precious, so I hope you will pardon my brevity. What do you require?"

This time the turian Councilor seemed to take the focus of the viewer. _"We have received reports of geth activity at Feros, and have sent the Turian 42nd Fleet to support the actions of your own Fifth Fleet. We are also sending a Spectre to assist you in the Saren investigation; please treat him with the same respect you have given ourselves."_

He felt the atmosphere change slightly, a result of the _Normandy's_ engines increasing their output. But it may just as well have been from the Councilor's expressions. "Help is always welcome. May I ask how this individual will be assisting me, and when I can expect it to arrive?"

Valern took over, keeping Shepard's attention moving _. "Most of our Spectres are otherwise on assignment, but we have managed to re-assign Spectre Guerrier to be stationed on the_ Normandy _. He will be traveling with the turian fleet within hours, and upon arrival shall immediately move to assist you. He has studied with some of the best the Council has to offer, and earned his tutelage under Saren. Do not fear; his dedication to stopping Saren is with a fervor equal to your own. I can assure you that his integrity is unquestionable."_

"Very good." Shepard tightened the hardened exterior plating covering the outer layer of his gauntlet. The material was lighter than the truly heavy armor, but carried more mass than the light armor preferred by light assault infantry. "Then on behalf of the Alliance and Feros, I thank you for the assistance. I thank you on my own part for the Spectre aid as well."

 _"If you would not mind a personal question,"_ Tevos floated a hand through the air, making the statement seem as airy as the medium through which it traveled, _"How are you getting along with your fiancée?"_

Shepard finished the last gauntlet, and triggered the full-seal for the armor set. Plates shifted microscopically, closing miniscule gaps. While invisible to the naked eye, the entire set of armor plates moving at the same time gave the impression of a slowly writhing thing, protectively wrapping its folds tighter. "Ma'am, my personal life is none of your business. Now if you'll excuse me, I have a fight to win."

At that moment, Shepard realized he'd made a very basic error. When resetting as he'd done to ensure a proper fit, the NightStalker armor set recalibrated its secondary neural links for the pseudo-biotic components, but only when its connection to the omni-tool registered no bodies nearby. Otherwise, unless he overrode it, the biotic component would be thoroughly tested as well, if only for a brief moment. Visually it was similar to when a biotic with naturally occurring capabilities performed a complex series of flexing motions, preparing for battle or an intense workout. The non-biotic could do the same thing – minus the lightshow – by doing a full-body stretch.

But the NightStalker hardware wasn't aware of the _Councilors_ , because they weren't actually there. _Rookie mistake. Rookie mistake._

The armor pulsed a white-blue fire, tracking from the upper part of his ankles to his head. Crackling from the sheer energy of the corona dominated his hearing for a split second. Nothing was wrong with his vision however, and he saw the Councilors start, particularly the asari Councilor. For a brief moment, he could see animalistic intent behind her motions, focused on him and him alone, before vanishing into the smooth veneer of a politician. Mental reflexes sprang into overdrive, and he quickly faked a glance to one side, tapping his earpiece as if it were active. "Geth got in a lucky shot, comms still up? Some feedback here … good. Keep me posted."

Members of the Council were not stupid, particularly the salarians. But, they tended to ignore what they didn't want to see, if past experience was any judge.

Shepard offered the now-silent group a tight, professional smile, pretending as if nothing had happened; it widened slightly more than usual when Udina's projection choked. "Councilors," his tone cooled when he looked at Udina, "Ambassador. Duty calls."

With a final gesture, he cut off the signal, moving away from the console. _Stupid, stupid, stupid. Better plan on another career after this._ The possibility of retirement soon after the assignment had been an attractive part of a possible endgame plan, if he were honest. But not quite this blatantly. Probably have every spook inside Relay space ticked at me now. Got to revise retirement plans to include a little more in home defense measures. _Can't imagine Intelligence letting me go after showing an artificial biotics armor setup like that. Well, not without an argument or three._

He passed the younger man on his way out, acknowledging Caswell Hudson's presence with a brief nod. The man was a communications technician, with the secondary job of security. An odd combination, now that he thought about it. Then he stopped, just outside the door … the little display had been seen by someone with low clearance. Sufficient to see the eezo-enhanced armor, but … something about the man still rubbed him wrong.

Dismissing the notion, he started moving again. There was an assault to begin; whatever the new Spectre would be in intending.

* * *

For the second time in less than a week, he stood at the Normandy's cargo bay, looking down at a new planet. High orbit had been bypassed, the upper cloud layers even now rushing past the barrier protecting the cargo hold. The very tips of massive buildings were making their presence known, like trees made of stone and steel. Thermal stealth had long ago been shed; even atmospheric craft, designed to cut through the sky, couldn't retain the same fields under this kind of stress.

"You all know your assignments." He didn't look around, didn't check if the squads were where they needed to be. They were professional. They were his. "You know the plan. Remember: the plan will be shot to blazes as soon as we make contact. Keep your objectives in mind, trust your mates."

The front of the cargo bay brightened as the Normandy powered its way towards the daylight side of the planet. Slowly, great spires poking up through the floating dust of the lower atmosphere came into view, hazy in the pre-dawn light. Their massive structures, towering into the sky, looked to be made of some forgotten compound lost to memory. Straight lines, vanishing into the lower cloudbanks, reared above his sightline, bending as the _Normandy_ slipped through their midst.

Shepard kept his eyes on the horizon, watching the murky gray lighting brighten into a crimson flare, stirring memory. "Now for wrath, now for ruin and the red dawn. Forth Eorlingas," he muttered.

From the near side, he heard the Gunnery chief chuckle. "A sword day, a red day, 'ere the sun rises."

Unwillingly, he felt a smile break out on his face. "Wait not for the dawn, let not the swift wait for the slow."

"At dawn, look to the east," Ashley retorted. "And … that's as far as I know. Got any other quotes ready to trot out, Skipper?"

Shepard eyed the now bright haze, the once blood-red light fading into its azimuth. "Tell you what, if you can get your kill count higher than mine, we'll have a contest at the evening meal. I will match you quote for quote; the genre doesn't matter."

The rattle of hardware accentuated her words. "You're on. Prepare for a butt-kicking like you've never felt before."

He chuckled politely. It had been some time since he'd debated the finer points of literature. Classics, histories, tales from the talented mind of long-dead scientists … all held a special place in his heart.

 _"Thank you for flying Allianc_ _e Invasions, catered by your friendly Mystery Meat Marvels,"_ Joker's voice boomed over the hangar bay's speakers. _"Given today's combat venue, the cooks have prepared a little something special for you all: Mecha Meatloaf Surprise! We will be in contact within thirty seconds, and you can get to disruption, dismemberment and disorder before coming home for the nicest home-cooked meal you've never w_ _anted. Have a great trip, see you next fall!"_

"Your pilot likes to … joke a great deal, does he not?" Liara asked from Shepard's back.

"The privilege of skill," Shepard readied his sniper rifle, unshipping its length from his back. "When you are the best at what you do, you can get away with a lot."

Tremors shook the ship as Joker took them into increasingly erratic maneuvers. A dropship, unseen from orbit, rose into view, bursts of light leaving its flanks to flash past their viewpoint. Shepard, magnetic clamps fully activated, swayed with the motion, but didn't move, unlike several soldiers near the back. He smiled again at the irritated grumbling from their direction. "Mag-clamps on," he called. "Watch your footing."

 _"Commander, probes away. You should be getting the feed any minute now,"_ Joker called.

Shepard powered up his receiver, waiting until the remotes began their transmission. As the link started, he kept a close eye on the placement. _Colonial infrastructure, looks like a fairly defensible place, good. Civilians, where's the turrets? Never mind; geth units all around, but not trying to climb underneath._ Wordlessly, he commanded one of the drones to retreat, giving him a larger field of view. _Ah, solid structure underneath, vines all over the place? Prothean manufacture, so damage resistant. Has to be, to last this long. One – no three Armatures, bridge from the next building over. Multiple Destroyers, maybe two Primes. Can't see too far in, but can't be too different._

"Orders, sir?" Ashley asked.

He smiled; she was learning to anticipate. "Change in plans, but not much. Same guidelines as before, but I want Charlie squad to get out higher; height advantage."

She grunted acknowledgement, flipping channels as he continued observing. There were burn marks throughout the entire colony, what he could see of it. Evidence of _Armature_ -class siege weapon bombardment. Countering that, he could see at least five _Epimetheus_ -class armor suits, strategically positioned to cover the colony. Their locations were well thought-out, overlapping fields of fire, but could have been more accessible by support – likely the result of civilian planning. Other civilians, completely unarmored, were using small-arms to fend off multiple geth, probing attacks from the sides.

 _Why are they focusing fire?_ He watched the collective _Epimetheus_ armor systematically lay down a barrage over an oncoming Armature, then refocus on a Prime approaching from an oblique angle. Each time, the units moved as one, never selecting individual targets. _Have to be fire-linked to a single unit, or even a VI targeting system groundside – that means direct cable. Civilian colony, makes sense. Wait, incoming fighter …._

A geth fighter-craft screamed in from the sky, side cannon launching hyper-accelerated rounds. As one, the Epimetheus armor rotated, but only two returned fire, launching rail-gun strikes from emplacements on anterior portions of the torso. The other three remained immobile, facing the geth fighter before the rounds made impact, blowing the craft to one side before it could complete its approach.

"Williams," he called. "Forget your power armor. There's a couple big sets groundside. Take one over when you can, keep overwatch. Grab control of all the units if you can. They have civvies running the program."

A thinly veiled burst of emotion came back to him, quite descriptive. "Aye sir, pardon my French."

Liara, double checking her new set of repurposed armor, cocked her head to one side. "I beg your pardon, but my translator did not render that as 'French' … is it a sub-dialect?"

Shepard snorted. "No. Old custom; profanity is blamed on the French. Prefer German myself for a good insult though, has a lot more feeling in it."

Her confused posture did him good. Puzzlement was good for the soul. "I … see. Are we ready to engage?"

Despite the combined tons of armor surrounding them on all sides, Shepard could feel his squads roll their eyes. Observers, watchdogs, interested bystanders, whatever you called them. Civilians could never get into the hang of military nomenclature. _Or_ , he corrected himself, _most do not. The ones that do are a rare breed, usually married to a soldier._

Aloud, he said nothing but, "Almost there, Doctor. Are you suited up?"

The manner in which she checked her sidearm was reassuring; as was the biotic-flare emanating from her fist for a moment. "I am prepared, Commander. You wish for me to stay close to you?"

"Yes," Shepard ignored the suggestive comments being whispered over the sealed airwaves. "I will be sniping, you spot for me. Watch my back and I'll watch yours."

A suggestive snigger came from one of the comms. _"Watch her back …."_

It took an eyeblink for Shepard to isolate the frequency, then turn to glare in that person's direction. The resulting gulp and whispered apology followed soon after. Professional attitude needed to be enforced; not just suggested. Familiarity may well have bred contempt, but in some subjects – it was better to be feared than loved. He was not their mother, they were not sophomoric students. Respect in his squad was earned, not given.

"We're getting close Commander. Three minutes."

Shepard faced the hangar opening, beginning a mental countdown. "Acknowledged. Standing by for the countdown."

The target appeared on the horizon, matching the drone's images inside his visor, and growing as the pilot started counting backwards. The structure, taller than most of its fellows, was somehow still intact in the upper regions to a greater extent than what other structures had managed. Slick shielding, courtesy of the standard colonial package, protected it from meteor strikes, almost as effectively as the twin battle stations in orbit. A dozen turret emplacements – void innards black against the gray walls of the structure – hinted at the potential seen in the site; enough to predispose the founding party to spring for enough hardware to protect a colony three times its current size.

A pity the _Powers That Be_ hadn't thought to actually deliver the hardware. What had they discovered?

 _Prothean planet; who knows what's available?_ Shepard glanced at the impenetrable haze, a mile or more below his sightline. _Investment in the hope of discovery … surprised nothing's been found so far._ A frown tightened his expression. _Or reported so far. Remember to get what records I can._

That would take time; time that he very well might not have. A substitute to compensate for that lack would need a certain frame of mind; some of the more ruthless businessmen could rival Terminus region warlords for callous thinking. Countering that mindset required a different approach; one with which he was very familiar, but had hesitated to use in front of his people. Or anyone non-Alliance for that matter. If he were strictly honest with himself, anyone really. But if Williams was going to be as good as he'd hoped … and if he wanted the squads to have an example … that meant he would need to use it. Nothing for it. _Go Cold, Shepard. Remember that teddy bear on Eden Prime? Geth. That Hegemony slaver shuttle? That stripper joint on Yuler Five?_

The familiar rage started building once more. Mnemonics, the study and development of the memory, assisted. Similar associative exercises were used by actors, allowing them to simulate emotion in unrealistic settings. Surgeons likewise often visualized themselves in calming circumstances, listening to classical music before operations.

Soldiers, on the other hand, used fast-paced music on a mission. Or practiced forms of meditation, depending on the individual. He, a unique individual among a unique breed, drove himself into a quiet fury.

 _Manfredi. Johnson. Xien._ The list of names, one he'd once promised to retire, continued. _O'Harry. Tai'Lung. And Jensen._ Jensen had been the last. Would be the last; if he had anything to do about it. It wasn't a method of depression; genetics had prevented him from being depressed. But he could still get angry – and anger could be a very valuable tool.

"Hey, Shepard," Garrus's flanged tones boomed over the mike. "Up for another bet? Double or nothing?"

Shepard raked his gaze over the squads. More than a couple were stealing glances at Liara, or more accurately, at her form-fitting armor. It irritated him, on top of the association exercise he was using; they were supposed to be the best. On the verge of the best, if his training plans came through. The _Normandy_ carried no slackers; and the 'best' were busy ogling a shapely passenger?

"No bet," Shepard slid a loving hand along the extended barrel of _Excalibur_. Sometimes, people were just hard to understand. "I prefer to bet when my opponent has a chance." He delivered a smirk at the turian, and started for the exit as the light began blinking clearance.

Taking a running leap, Shepard hurled himself through the static mag-curtain. Tight at his side, Liara matched his jump, biotics flaring in an impressive display of spot-correction. Behind them, the rest of the squads plunged into action, emulating his example. Some of the more excitable members of Delta squad screamed epithets at the geth, but the rest focused on their approach.

* * *

Feros System

Hackett stroked the readiness panel, letting the numbers flow across its screen in an unending cascade. Though no VI, he could read the trends as well as any artificial intelligence. Outliers were the danger, exceptions to the rule; that required no synthetic genius to interpret. That was why he loved fighting simulations, everything the quarian people had to offer on the geth. He'd actually been forced to turn down reinforcements; practically the entire Fleet had offered to accompany him on any geth-related maneuvers. Apparently, his reputation among the Fleet had grown wildly out of proportion to reality – the first geth/human interaction, and he had defeated them handily. Something quarians appreciated.

Now to repeat the feat. Hackett watched the geth deployment, noting the shift in movement as they realigned their focus to his approaching forces. "Recall the Relay group. I want the recovery ships on them ASAP. Get me Admiral Zorah."

An aide heard his order, and the quarian admiral's face was soon on his projector. _"Admiral. You are engaged with the geth?"_

Hackett liked Zorah – professionally. The man was blunt, and to the point, never obfuscating the issue with unnecessary political jabs, a refreshing breeze in the often overly-politicized realm of military rank. But, he was disappointed with how the man took care of family. Quarians were renown for putting their people first – Zorah appeared to have forgotten the finer details of that point. "The Relay is open. You have fifteen minutes at most before the turians arrive. We will cover you as much as we can, until you leave. Good luck."

Lights flashed behind Zorah's image, and the figure leaned forwards against an invisible pressure. _"We are en route. Fifteen minutes will be more than enough time to collect sufficient samples. And admiral … thank you for this opportunity. Good hunting."_

The signal cut out, leaving Hackett to return his full attention to the battle at hand. Unlike the previous engagement, the geth were showing far more intelligence, ably switching formations with a fluid grace unexpected in a society of machines. Fortunately, grace and precision only counted for a clearly defined goal; something he intended to muddle for them.

"First element, withdraw to holding pattern Sigma by the stations." Reinforcing the Alliance presence would allow the _Olympia_ battle stations time to begin much-needed field repairs. Two of them together would handle the process much more efficiently. "Second element, withdraw to the flagship. All other vessels, get clear if you are able, and prepare for phase two."

Projected light shimmered as the dots representative of the individual vessels changed position. The ancient rules of war held true, no matter what foe he'd faced. Every engagement, every fight, every war, involved fighting in someone's chosen terrain. The trick lay in making the enemy think the battleground was theirs.

* * *

Shepard's HUD screamed in his ear, painting the ground blood red in targets. The landing zone was a short drop for eezo-controlled armor, only ten meters from the _Normandy's_ drop point, but he was able to pinpoint three targets, executing two before landing on both feet. The third almost managed to dodge his follow-up, but a snap-shot with his side-arm removed the crucial data-processor in the head-like extension.

"Move it, move it, move it!" He jogged forwards, slipping away the pistol. "I want the colony under control in an hour! Show some hustle ladies!"

A power armor suit landed nearby, a half-ton of bad attitude making the ground tremble. Its arm, already leveling, spat a pair of grenades before beginning an auto-cannon assault. The far point of its range staggered a geth Prime unit.

Delta squad dropped next, swarming across the ground with deceptive speed. An average quarian was almost comical to look at; lean figures, nearly as polite as the Hanar, and physically incapable of withstanding even minor damage. Yet here, where Shepard could see them in full combat, they looked terrifying. At least half of the squad were War Dancers, an ancient martial art that dated back to times before their own First Contact. Watching a quarian bisect a geth unit with nothing more than a omni-blade reinforced the impression of brutal efficiency.

"Destroyer, right side and closing." Liara's calm voice snagged his attention. It had been a welcome discovery to find that the asari had taken some training in sniper support. In retrospect, he should have suspected that combat training for a potential commando would have done so. The asari, as a race, almost embodied the sniper team code.

Shepard marked the target, "Destroyer, aye." A gentle stroke of the trigger, and _Excalibur_ purred in his hands. The visor over his eye confirmed the kill, leaving him free to tag another unit for Garrus to hit from the open dock of the _Normandy_ , when he had a chance.

"Incoming," Liara spoke again, and Shepard lifted his head from the scope, just in time to see one of the stealth geth units stop in midair, rotating helplessly around a pitch-black point. The area surrounding that point shimmered, like a heat mirage, but casting a blue shade on everything. Another geth unit, this one a rocket carrying variety, joined the stealth unit in the Singularity's prison. Both attempted to reach each other, likely to gain traction, but before they could attain any momentum, the singularity between them pulsed, attracting them to its very center.

Shepard winced. Only the most powerful biotics could generate a Singularity. Even fewer actually used them; one incorrectly placed gravity well could render an entire squad into credit-sized chunks of meat. Manuals referenced krogan biotics that could damage battleship armor with a Singularity, and there were asari rumored to be even more powerful than that – but he'd never actually witnessed one.

"Alpha squad, 'ware armature, north by northeast. Take it down blue!" Shepard highlighted their target in their HUD's, before ducking behind another block. The biotic from Alpha squad signaled acknowledgement, and levitated a massive chunk of masonry in response. His partner launched herself at the floating bulk, triggering the jets her armor contained to increase her momentum before kicking off the hovering rock. At the point of impact, she triggered her own biotics, generating a cross-field detonation.

"Good work!" Shepard darted forwards, taking advantage of the chaos in enemy ranks as the heavily armored geth unit crumpled. "Delta, make a hole. Charlie, cover 'em!"

The quarian contingent leaped forwards, rebounding off the obstacles with inhuman grace. Above, the mostly lighter members of Charlie squad took to the skies, jets flaring in the daylight. The tactics were rough, he had to admit, but that would change with practice. Live fire exercises taught like no other teacher.

 _"Commander, they're moving fast_ ," Ashley''s voice blasted over his earpiece. _"Coming in hot, right flank."_

Instantly, Shepard swapped sides, looking over the battlefield. "Alpha squad, keep pushing. Delta, take cover. Charlie, keep up the overwatch, right flank. Snipers: make them watch their heads." He keyed off the comm, and rested the barrel of Excalibur across the breadth of an abandoned crate. "Liara, watch my back."

"Yes, Commander," he heard the asari answer, then lost himself to the dance. Movement, crossing a gap laterally, caught his attention. It wasn't enough for a true shot, but he timed the rate of passage to another opening, and fired. His eyepiece chimed a kill, freeing him to refocus on a pair of infantry, vaulting up the rubble at speeds no human could match. One shot spun the left-most geth ninety degrees, shattering the articulation joint at the side of its collar, the second merely broke the other geth's shields. Reacting, the now vulnerable unit dodged, straying into the crossfire from an alert member of Charlie squad.

Nodding, Shepard swept the rising slope, selecting targets. _Poor tactics,_ he picked off another infantry-grade geth. _After what they did on Therum, I expected better._ A destroyer; the comparatively massive geth unit bounded up the debris field, scattering heavy fire in his general direction. Behind it, a floating drone trio kept pace, close enough to use each other's shielding, but far enough apart to have a deadly range of fire. One evaporated as a light infantry soared overhead, and dropped a small, innocuous package just ahead of the larger unit. The resulting explosion tore through the remaining three units, phosphorescent fire overwhelming barriers in an eyeblink.

 _Tiny squads against two full squads, and a force multiplier trio._ Shepard threw another look around, starting to become worried.

"Two jumpers, mid-tower," Liara intoned behind him. "Separating left and right."

He left those for the quarians, scanning the field once more. Something felt off, like he was being watched. "Ash, what can you see up there?"

The response hissed in his ear, static. His worry grew. "Tali, is your upgrade online?"

 _"Not yet, Commander. I need a few more minutes to finish uploading, then it needs to calibrate."_ The quarian's terse tone came as a surprise; she was normally an outgoing individual … but …she could just be feeling the pressure.

Resolving to check again, Shepard took yet another slow view. The reconnaissance elements had painted a number of contacts on the HUD, but less than half of them were of a level threatening enough for him to take notice. _Where are they?_

Inspiration struck; there had been multiple contacts prior to his assault; maybe a third now missing. He'd accounted for a number of kills, but not enough to deplete the entire geth force by thirty percent.

"Um, Shepard?"

Spotters were on every highpoint, Joker on the _Normandy_ , with some of the specialists aboard. No commander would send all his strength at one point; reserves were made for emergencies. The geth had no need for reserves, when they were in full control of the situation. That meant a retreat had been involved, with nowhere to go.

"Shepard!"

He whipped around, alarm in Liara's voice penetrating his calculations. He noted her position, oriented 180 degrees to his own, facing the sheer dropoff. Prothean construction held up to an incredible amount of damage, but something in the planet's history had broken through the walls, leaving an opening to chamber acting as the colony's hanger bay. And there, just clambering through the opening, lumbered a pair of geth Armatures. Where there were two, there had to be more.

Instinctively, Shepard dropped to one knee, firing point blank into the nearest unit's barrier. Its shields were strong enough to deplete most of the round's energy, but a residual amount passed the barrier to score a deep furrow across one leg. It moved, stomping the affected limb at him. He ducked left, and rolled, putting the chunk of rubble between himself and the machine.

Liara, however, was shouting incoherently, firing her small sub-machinegun like a water pistol, for all the damage it was dealing.

Growling, Shepard activated his pseudo-biotics. The Council had seen it; and pretty soon, every Council-related minion would know about them. Who cared if a know-nothing archaeologist found out?

The catches slipped free, unleashing the power hidden inside the unassuming armor. White energy, ethereal at first but rapidly solidifying, coalesced around his fist. Reality shimmered, bending under the forces at hand, flowing into a single point. The brilliant energy burst left his hand, streaking into the marked armature's thoracic ridge. It made impact through the weakened shield, driving the armature's leg inwards at an angle its designers had not intended. Thrown off balance, the machine struggled to re-align its remaining legs, while peppering Shepard's position with the heavy caliber machine gun emplacement.

Finally, Liara seemed to regain her senses, scrambling into cover. The time her escape had cost however, had purchased enough time for more units to arrive.

"Fighting retreat, back to the colony!" Shepard underhanded an EMP grenade like a baseball, moving downhill as fast as he could. "Delta squad, we're coming your way. Charlie, pull back."

A different voice cut into the static. _" …pard? Read … 'e?"_

Intent on running, Shepard ignored the communication. "T'Soni! Run! Get the hell out of Dodge!"

The asari gracefully leaped past him, briefly pausing on the side of a pillar before launching herself further downfield. Her featherweight move suddenly terminated in a crushing maneuver, her body seemed to blur just before falling much faster than its ballistic arc would have predicted; right onto a geth infantry unit. Her feet crushed its frame into the ground, before she flipped over and onward.

But, she had just abandoned her squadmate. That was bad; _very_ bad. The first rule of combat was to watch out for yourself; a fair enough statement: you couldn't protect your buddy if you were dead after all. But the accepted method was to advance, watching for your mate, leapfrogging in a fashion as old as urban warfare. _Have to either teach her better, or leave her behind_. Problems like this were exactly why he'd paired her with himself; he was far more capable of looking out for trouble than most of his people.

Putting the matter aside, he continued moving down. By comparison to the lithe asari, Shepard trundled down the short slope, legs pumping. He was fast by any human measure; possibly in the top ten percent, he guessed. Quarians could sprint circles around him, but didn't have the mass to make full use of that speed in a charge. Humans had learned how, long eons before in the time of the Chivalric Charge. That time period had put men in full metal armor on equally well-armored thousand pound animals, sending the combined weight crashing into the ranks of enemy infantry. Only the krogan had something comparable in their history; turians – the next most logical choice had what could best be described as a 'love hate' relationship with the concept.

Shepard felt an impact at the back plate of his armor, forcing a grunt. Something, likely medium caliber, had struck his backplate. Mentally, he pictured where the heavy geth position, and pushed forwards as hard as he could. Another hit knocked him over, tumbling him into a pillar; fortunately his arms were in a good enough position to pull himself the rest of the way.

Behind his bruised back, the Prothean concrete shuddered. Siege-grade weaponry slammed into its bulk, sending flakes into his visor. The accompanying small arms fire, peppering the ground on all sides convinced him that more of the geth had joined the pair of Armatures. "Could use a little help here, anyone got visual?"

A tiny window opened on his visor's communication square. A video feed, from a higher perspective – from one of the light infantry – displayed a number of the more standard geth troops headed in his direction. Even as he watched, a Geth Prime unit speared its arm through an outcropping, leveraging its mass into a combat roll.

Seeing multiple tons of military-grade hardware behave so fluidly was … impressive. A design centuries old, still more than capable of keeping up with cutting edge technology had to be a dream for most inventors.

Too bad they had to try killing him. _"Joker, can you read me?"_

An outraged hissing responded eloquently. "Right. Heavies, give me a volley, one shot."

The limited number of heavy infantry in Delta squad opened fire without hesitation. Four high-yield tipped rockets boomed past his cover, detonating on the larger geth in a dazzling show.

 _Geth calculate probability. What would I be likely to do?_ Shepard gave himself two heartbeats to come up with a plan. _Right. Survival. Suicidal tactics it is then. My favorite._

Quickly, he unshipped his rifle. Predictable. _Machine-like. Stay Cold._ Cold was better than hot. Angry men made mistakes, let their emotion rule their actions. Anger was best when used as a power source, focused on a goal.

Rolling to one side, he snap-fired, sliding back into cover before the machine's insanely fast reflexes could react. A moment later, he rolled out the same side, launching a grenade in a flat arc. This time he continued the roll, taking cover behind another bit of ruined stonework. The block's curvature appeared to be the remnant of an ancient curb, or perhaps an original rain gutter. From what he could see, the rocket assault proved effective on one of the Prime's, but the others were still approaching. Even the best sniper in the galaxy would be hard-pressed to take down a fraction of the geth.

"Hang on Shepard, I gotcha," Ashley's voice resounded in his earpiece. "Take cover, here comes the thunder."

Shepard curled in a tighter ball behind his stone, covering his ears. This was the only point where he really wished he'd worn a helmet. Just the sound of artillery, once known as the _Voice of Kings_ , could blow through the eardrums of a battle-hardened turian's tympanic membranes, if he weren't careful.

Shuddering explosions rocked the tower. The ground under his body shook, the monstrous proof of some higher power, delighting in terrorizing mortals. The sound transcended sonic levels, devolving into the infrasonic range; more the realm of an angered master of volcanoes.

When the shaking reduced to a gentle swaying, Shepard risked a chance look, peeking around the side of his cover. Darkened craters, less than a hand-span deep, had been punched into the concrete. _Good grief, anti-armor rounds and the rock still doesn't crack?_ He briefly considered testing the material's capacity, but shelved the idea for later. _Don't want the whole thing to collapse under me for a stupid test._

The rattle of a light machine gun shuddered into place, closer to the colony. One of the geth Armature units staggered and fell, vital components rendered into scrap metal. Multiple infantry grade units lay in shambles, but at least half of them were rising out of surprising hiding places, as if in mimicry of the undead.

 _Now, while they're recovering._ Shepard lifted his rifle once more. The HUD made target selection easy, and the heavy units were of minimal effectiveness in their current state. _Downed Armature first, then Rocket._ More geth had crawled out from under the cleft in their flanking maneuver. Right now, he appeared to be on the edge of two bodies of geth forces, protected by the collapsed pillars. Taking a deep breath, he drew a bead on the fallen Armature, letting it out slowly. _One_.

The Armature shuddered, slumping once more, sans the delicate circuitry channeling high-level processes in the data-collection hardware. Shepard paid it no mind, changing targets; rocket on the wall. His rifle spoke again, oversized projectile blowing through weakened shields and armor alike. _Two_.

Traversing obliquely, another rocket trooper fell to his gun. _Three_. Then he was forced to duck back, waiting for the cooldown sequence to finish.

Before it finished, Shepard rose again, omni-tool primed and released an Overload, discharging its payload into a camouflaged geth sniper. It fell, twitching and shuddering, bouncing off the edge past the retaining wall into the abyss.

 _Wait … I'm that close to the edge?_ A quick glance behind his shoulder revealed the skyscraper's proximity to infinity. Fog swirled below, long beyond an organic capacity of survival, should it fall. The geth unit made sparks as it crossed his field of vision, deforming even as he watched, smashed against the unforgiving twin problems of unstoppable force and immovable objects.

His attention was distracted as a skeletal hand, made of an unknown alloy, reached over the precipice sinking the tips into his leg armor. They flexed in a remarkably lifelike display, and dug into the ferro-ceramic plate.

Shepard fought down panic as the arm started dragging him towards the edge. Instead of clawing uselessly for handholds, he drew the pistol his father left him, conveniently left at the small of his back where a shotgun would be normally found. Then he waited, letting the geth pull him closer. As the machine's second arm reached out, the motion briefly exposed the processing center just above the stone lip. The pistol roared, launching its payload.

Sparks flew out of the shattered machine's head, arms frozen in position.

 _"Shepard! Look out!"_ Without looking, he stuck out an arm, glowing with suppressed biotic power. It intercepted a charging geth's leg, closing in an eezo-enhanced grip. Shepard squeezed, the secondary program activating a Warp factor.

The geth, now missing a leg below the knee, toppled forwards over the edge. Momentum carried it past the point of no return. Twisting, Shepard picked up his rifle once more and leaned to get a better angle on his next shot.

A violent tug on his leg yanked him far enough back that one leg now dangled off the side of the building. Shepard dropped his rifle, digging his gauntlets into the uneven floor. Stupid, stupid, stupid! You forgot their reflexes! The weight of the second geth, added to the first, dragged him slowly towards the edge."

"I need an assist," Shepard tugged against the weight, bracing one hand against a nubbin of rock, protruding from the floor. It halted his descent, but the pressure was increasing. Reaching to snap the limb like he'd done to its leg would throw him just far enough off balance to render any recovery moot. It was with great effort that he kept his voice level, when he wanted to bellow as loudly as he could. "Asap, if you please."

 _"Roger that, blue in play. Hang on,"_ Charlie squad's channel squawked. _"Give her covering fire! Now blast you, now! If we lose the Commander on my watch, you'll wish you'd jumped in there after him!"_

That didn't make any sense. Both of Charlie squad's biotics were recon, talented at sniping and remaining out of enemy range, not interception. Delta had one biotic, a male human assigned to the group for the duration of their stay on the _Normandy_. Perhaps Alpha squad had doubled back?

The weight yanked on his leg once more. His grip loosened, despite the strength-enhancing nature of his armor. Gritting his teeth, Shepard activated the pseudo-biotics yet again; he hated using them so often. It made him feel incompetent. This time, Warp fields appeared around his fingertips, disintegrating the stone beneath them into finger holds. It had been a suggestion from an old Drell instructor; a method of tracking. Some assassins would climb sheer surfaces with nothing more than their clothes, their weapon of choice, and biotics; very good for surprise, but only until someone noticed the odd trail of markings.

The weight increased, this time with the strength of a fallen angel pulling harder on his leg. Shepard diverted more power to the mass-enhancing subroutines; the legless unit must have activated the derelict's power supply. Increased mass for as long as the power supply held; two geth units roughly six feet tall, made of solid metal, abusing the power efficiency of computer-precision hardware … the situation wasn't exactly impossible, just more of a challenge.

"Gah!" Shepard muscled himself forwards, digging the glowing blue fingers into the ground a hand span further in than before. His pistol, the gun from Mindoir long before, lay just out of reach. If he could get there …. _Come on Shepard! Two inches, or you're as useless as a chocolate teapot! Half-right, face! Front Leaning Rest Position! Move!_

His fingers dragged slow furrows across the ground, grinding the stone into powder. Cutting the Warp subroutine stopped the slow drag through stone, but meant his fingers were beginning to slide out of the artificial handholds. Shepard redoubled his efforts, tensing his abdominals, keeping the rest of himself as still as death, touching as much surface area as he could.

"Keeyah!" A mountain landed right next to him, blasting dust into his face. The weight came free, a good thing. The bad thing was that in the newfound freedom, his muscles decided to relax in a well-deserved break.

"I have you Commander," he felt a mass lightening field encompass his body, and made a grab for his pistol, snagging it just before getting pulled away from the edge. Both he and his rescuer landed behind the fallen pillar, crunching in the rubble. He rolled, meeting the blue visage of one asari.

"T'Soni?" he blinked. That stunt at the head of the slope, standing out in the open like a fool, not to mention abandoning him on the position shift, were the moves of a rank amateur. But … getting to him, pulling him to safety – a glance down revealed a geth arm still holding his leg like a mechanical Grendel – and a precision biotic strike powerful enough to sever armor-grade hardware. Impressive … but also a little inane. "What did you think you were doing? Diving into a crossfire like that? That's one of the dumbest, craziest, most intellectually challenging moves I've seen anyone ever pull!"

Shepard could see Liara's body tense, and hid a smile. Some people were so easy to read. "Keep up that kind of insanity, and someone might mistake you for a human. Thanks. I owe you one."

She stopped, frozen, mouth open; he could tell that much. Letting a grin lift one side of his mouth, he motioned at her hip. "Lose your piece?"

Liara patted her thigh, then slapped her other leg, searching for the weapon with increasing urgency. "I had it, I know I had it!"

Shots made a whistling sound, over their heads. Chatter on the comms indicated the battle went well, but could be improved. Silently, Shepard picked up his pistol, and looked at it. It was his father's, carried through a hundred battles on a dozen worlds … but … she _had_ saved his life. Gently, he rotated it in his hand, and offered its stock to the asari. "I want it back without a scratch. Careful, it kicks."

She took the worn stock, flipping it into a ready position easily. "Thank you, Commander."

Dust fell from above, warning Shepard a split second before a stealthed geth dropped on top of him. The split-second warning was enough for him to flick the settings of his armor to generate a massive Throw field on one fist. It caught the mechanical soldier and flung him far over the lip's edge. Snarling, he cut the field, slapping _Excalibur_ into position once more. Cuddling the weapon into his shoulder gave a sense of purpose. Lethal accuracy.

"Target Armature, last one." Shepard triggered an Overload, disarming part of the frontal shield. A second burst quickly followed from Delta squad, collapsing the tank-like machine's protective energy field.

A loud booming crack, followed by a startled exclamation came from his side. "By the Goddess! What is this?"

He glanced at the weapon fondly. "One of the Railjack series, sidearm edition. Company went under not long after Devlon and Ariake got going." Another sizzling burst of power impacted the pillar. "It's an actual railgun, back from before eezo was popular, so not as much ammunition. Watch your fire, but what you hit, stays hit. Focus fire, focus fire!"

Immediately, a hail of hyper-accelerated fire took advantage of the opening. He saw an accurate series of shots chew at the construct's main processor, and a hail of less accurate sparks ricochet across the lower carapace.

Shifting once again, he focused on one of the few remaining infantry units, separating the flashlight skull from the torso. Next to him, Liara raised one fist, thrusting it downwards. His next target lifted off the ground, shuddering as the armor plating crumpled on its body. Shepard moved on to the next target of opportunity, highlighting one that while visible, was outside his angle.

Satisfaction filled him, as he noticed the number of red indicators on the map vanishing. For some reason, eliminating the largest geth first appeared to inhibit the smaller geth maneuvers.

Already, he could see the smaller units falling back, almost clumsily attempting to avoid being flanked. The fluid grace they'd displayed earlier was vanishing, seen now only in the units surrounding a Destroyer-grade geth. Two quick shots, and those too were behaving more erratically.

Ten minutes later, the battlefield was silent, except for the clicking sounds of cooling metal ... no crackling blaze, no wisping smoke to bat away. On this world, there was nothing flammable to burn, no wildlife to terrify. It was fortunate, in a way, that geth did not decay; there were no beasts of carrion to eliminate what could not be disposed.

"Charlie squad, Delta squad," he stood up, rotating in a slow circle. "Nothing on my screens. Sing out if you have something."

One by one, a negative response cleared the weight from his mind. "By the numbers, everyone with us?"

Once again, he went through the responses, comparing their hardsuit data with the verbal reports. Good men. He checked the flashing icon next to a pair of names. _They should be in a hospital, but claim to be 'fit to fight.' If I'd had them a few years ago, I could have waged war on the entire Terminus Systems._ He stopped. The idea, ridiculous years ago, didn't hold the same frivolous attitude any more. _There are a few merc bands more or less trustworthy … that sniper from Elysium? O'Riley, that was it. He had a good band. Might need to get in touch._

"Ryans, Stevens, report to Chakwas as soon as the Normandy sets in." Compromise was the mother of diplomacy … or was that combat? "Joker, can you hear me?"

A dry voice responded. _"Yeah, I read you. Guess you found out the drones were hacked, right?"_

Shepard grunted. "We found out, yes. Next time we're putting stronger firewalls on those things. Can you put in here? The landing zone is clear."

 _"Roger that, Commander. Coming in for landing. By the way, Hackett said that the quarians were here and gone again. Turian backup should be here any minu – nevermind. They're here now."_

"Good." Shepard ignored the question of quarians, and brushed some of the concrete dust off his armor. "I'm headed for Zhu's Hope right now. Let me know when you're dirtside."

* * *

 **A/N: Hey all, good to be here. Not much to say except thank you to Nightstride for his Beta assistance, and to the near 400 followers of this little tale.**

 **Today's fic recommendation is 'The Prodigal' by Coilerfan35. For anyone that is a Miranda fan, it's an excellent read; regretfully unfinished at this point in time. Probably never, given its last update. But, time goes on.**

 **Here's one question: are you looking forward to the Mass Effect Andromeda? I'll keep writing this story, and continuing it if I'm spared (grad work coming up next semester). But it will be interesting to see if the Mass Effect forum suddenly obtains a burgeoning population of stories, no?**

 **C'ya down the lane!**


	18. Giants Among Us

_This chapter is dedicated to co-writer and good friend, F13D. We have collaborated on the work: Dawn of Titans. And thrown enough ideas back and forth to keep a team of developers active. Get well soon!_

 _And now, to your regularly scheduled program._

* * *

 _Feros is an enigma, wrapped inside a mystery, surrounded by the unknown. Why is it there, what happened to its people, and how come no one ever really looked into it? My own files indicate references to the place are ... muted. Suppressed in some ways, ostensibly the cause of some Prothean data-mining program that's been crawling through the galaxy for millenia._

 _Others say it's just how things are. Don't read into things that don't exist._

 _Me? I say a lot of unknown things live in the uncharted parts of the galaxy. Species with which we've never made official contact, planets that shouldn't exist; heck, even my home station shouldn't really exist where I put it. I can look out my window and see ... well ... a lot of pretty fog. It's really gorgeous, multi-colored and all. A simple star shouldn't exist here; yet it does. Life does not behave in such a way, yet it has._

 _Shepard's visit detonated much of that secrecy and turned it into a mess of variables so chaotic even a squad of asari Matriarch investors couldn't keep it under wraps. But ... that's getting ahead of the story._

 _Dr. Arnold Pavenmeyer_

 _~Project Ragnarök Files_

* * *

 _SSV Sigurd_

Admiral Hackett nodded his approval at the display. Feros lay before his feet, open and unthreatened by geth forces. It had cost him two cruisers, eight frigates and a dozen fighters, but it was finally free. Considering the potential losses, it had been relatively cheap.

Relatively.

"Sir!" An officer suddenly jerked up from his station. "The _Shen_ - _yang_ is reporting heavy damage sir, structural integrity critical and failing!"

 _What_? Hackett sorted through recent combat damage, pulling up what he knew; the _Sheng-yang_ was a missile cruiser, dedicated to supporting the _Sigurd_. Its position had been sheltered by the _Martel_ -class battleship's bulk, nothing major had hit it throughout the entire engagement. "Report."

The officer shrugged helplessly, "No details available, they just started broadcasting an SOS, and … sir!"

He followed the officer's gaze to the display at the center of the bridge. Smaller ships couldn't afford the room, but his display held a prominent position at the side of the center. Rank upon rank of computer panels filled the lower sections, the better to pinpoint data spikes by action alone. Some disapproved of the ship design having the officers literally capable of walking above enlisted head height, but the entire galaxy had problems with re-routing bureaucracy. That's how it had been designed for nearly half a century, and that's how it would likely be for another. But the display to one side showed something far more discomforting than seating arrangements.

The outline of the system, once focused on the _Sigurd_ and Feros proper, now showed a sparkling debris field where the _Shen-yang_ had once been. Seconds later, a destroyer at the far end of the formation erupted in gouts of flaming debris.

Hackett noted the position of both destroyed ships, mind whirring. "Scanners, get me a map of the system. The entire system dammit!"

As he spoke, another bright flash sparkled on his board, faint echoes of the real explosions occurring less than an astronomical unit from his own ship. "Fifth Fleet, take evasive maneuvers! Relative up, orient on the flagship. Epsilon-Tau, and do it yesterday!"

The scanner pinged another report, coming up negative. He mentally shredded its contents; computers could only see what was painfully obvious. It took intelligence to perceive the invisible. "Scanners, there's a geth ship somewhere near here. If they're sending suicide attacks, they have to have a spotter somewhere. Get me that spotter!"

The bridge froze or a moment. The phrase, _suicide attack_ held powerful memories; the Fifth Fleet had been deployed some years before to deter a warlord from rampaging through the colonies. She'd resorted to sending drones at FTL speeds to eliminate targets, a practice which had both earned her the death sentence, and made the action itself a crime with some of the most stringent consequences within the Alliance. Costs had been … devastatingly high.

Frantic seconds passed by, more shields and ships converted into debris fields. Then one of the officers shouted in triumph. "Sir, I have it! Bearing mark six starboard three zero one!"

Hackett made a guttural noise of satisfaction. "All ships, anyone in range, take it out. Repeat: all ships fire as you bear."

Two destroyers rotated in place, bringing their main guns in line. In the vacuum of space, no sound was heard, but the _Sigurd's_ sensors tracked a pair of shells crossing the void. The destruction of the geth ship was equally silent, and nearly featureless. Alliance vessels held safeguards, eliminating the Hawking Engines from repeating a mistake that had happened in the early colonization efforts. Hackett himself had been in the battle of _Kar'Shan_ , where an entire singularity core had been released in space around the planet. There were still entire swathes rendered uninhabitable from the reprisal strikes Hegemony officials had used to control the in-fighting.

"Keep sweeping the area," Hackett brushed his gaze over the crew pit. "As soon as you see another one, flag it as high priority."

To himself, the scoreboard looked significantly worse. Almost half of his cruisers destroyed, a third of his cruisers. Over ten thousand lives, gone in thirty minutes. Those quarians better start making progress. If Saren gets enough geth on his side, he won't need any super-ships.

* * *

Zhu's Hope was a small colony, smaller than Mindoir had been at the time of the Raid. Its construction was incredibly different as well, based on archaeology and funding from external sources. While Mindoir had been established in a location specifically chosen for access to mineral and agricultural wealth, Zhu's Hope relied on proximity to data-rich caches and external support. One was a self-sufficient population, bent on taming a new world, the other dove into the dangerous realm of political intellectualism.

Shepard took stock of the camp, Liara at his side keeping an eye out for him. The artillery power armors stood sentinel overhead, barely visible through the collapsing superstructure. Not that the walls looked like they were going to fall anytime soon; despite their age, the gray structures looked as immovable as time itself. _Perhaps a remnant of superior engineering? Or was the planet's legendary tectonic activity perhaps less overt than believed?_

A warning nudge alerted him to the approach of one of the colonists. "Hello, sir. Fai Dan wants to speak with you right away."

"Very well," Shepard noted the colonist's body language; hands were clenching and unclenching. Fight or flight reflex? Nervousness at talking to a marine? "Are you to guide me?"

"Nossir. I have to keep going. Geth took out a power relay, and I need to replace it." The hands clenched again.

 _Nervous about repairs?_ Ignoring that aspect, Shepard merely nodded. Explanations could wait.

The colony itself appeared to be … disheveled. Gray stone absorbed what sunlight the heavy atmosphere permitted entrance, dulling the remaining light. Dusty off-white shelters, temporary by the appearance, loomed over the entire floor. Dust, centuries of the stuff, lay in unused corners, lying in sullen piles. Streaks along the walls near windows indicated water damage, or at least a minor chemical reaction between whatever metal the erstwhile Protheans had used. Yet the ceiling reared its proud visage to great heights, and obvious attempts at repairing sections demonstrated a vibrant desire to survive.

He passed between two guards. They looked at him in terror, fear leaving their eyes only to suddenly return, shuddering as it did. That disturbed him.

"Excuse me," he tapped a woman's shoulder. She jumped nearly two feet, whirling in a combat position he didn't recognize. That disturbed him almost as much as the look of fear on the other colonists faces. While no asari, Shepard had studied combat for over half of his life. To not even recognize the basic form of such an obvious style? But that wasn't getting him anywhere; he flicked his eyes down to the name tag on her grimy uniform. "Your pardon, Miss Doyle. Could you tell me where Fai Dan is?"

The woman brushed dirty blonde hair out he her eyes, relaxing. "Fai Dan's near the heart of the colony. Try the _Borealis,_ that's the freighter near the center. We've been using its shields to hold out since … since the geth came."

"Understood. Thank you." Curiosity made him hesitate, "If I may ask, why are you here?"

She groaned. "These pipes aren't working. They ship water to the colony through the aquifers the Protheans left behind, but I think the geth switched off the stations deeper in the tower. Without water, we're overworking the recyclers, and Lord only knows how long they'll stay working."

Shepard frowned. "No, I mean, why are you working on water here," he gestured at their exposed position, "When there have to be other places. You could even work on making more recyclers; ancient technology is notoriously unreliable you know."

The woman flinched. "It's … complicated. The geth aren't attacking now, and it feels right to be here. Helps to focus on something other than the geth or people I can't help, you know? It hurts to not focus. There's so much opportunity for growth here, if we can make it. You should talk to Fai Dan, he can explain it better."

"Of course …" Shepard backed up slowly, keeping his expression neutral. "I'll be on my way then. Best of luck, Miss Doyle."

The woman ignored him, returning to stare at the controls with an almost fanatical zeal. He'd only seen that level of focus on new recruits, near the end of Hell Week, or the criminally insane. Not that there was a great deal of difference at times.

Pretending to ignore the obsessive woman, he tripped over a minor crack in the ground, catching himself just in time. Describing the unlikely origins of that particular section of artificial geology served to reduce the embarrassment. _Ten years and you still haven't managed to get that under control. What will it take, a bloody miracle?_

"Shepard," Liara's voice drew him out of self-criticism, "do you truly have the Prothean Beacon within your mind?"

Shepard looked up, gauging the distance until they reached the large freighter. Unfortunately, although miniature barricades blocked a good portion of the ground, a clear path had been made … in a fairly amateurish attempt. Directing the flow of battle served admirably, but failed to work in most combat situations. Using the corrugated siding from modular buildings made them oddly uniform; an ingenious move for logistics, but left far too much time overall for his walk. "Yes, Doctor. I have it … downloaded, for lack of a better term. It's indistinct, fuzzy, but clear enough to get the message across."

She stopped him, trying to look him in the eye. He avoided it, watching their surroundings; it wasn't as if paranoia hadn't kept him alive for the past decade. "When we return to the _Normandy_ , we must discuss this in greater depth. Agreed?"

Sighing, Shepard began walking once more, until she tugged him to a stop once more. "Shepard, one more question, if I may?"

Rejoicing at the habitat's proximity, Shepard pushed past her attempt. "Liara, trust me, we need to get through this situation as best as possible. Then we shall have time to talk of strategies." This time he did stop, searching the nearby rubble with his eyes as if the secrets to the past few days could be found in their depths. "When we return to the _Normandy_ , I think I'll have enough evidence to wrap up loose ends that have been irritating me for over a decade now." He changed his tone, activating his earpiece. "Alpha squad, report."

A hoarse voice returned. _"Sigurd here, sir. No casualties, perimeter secured. Gotta say though, this place feels creepy."_

Shepard raised an eyebrow. Lieutenant Sigurd was one of the most prosaic individuals he'd ever met. "Clarify."

 _"I don't know sir, just … like someone's walking over my grave."_

"Ah. Stay frosty then, don't know what your instincts are telling you, but it would be wise to listen." He changed frequency, "Joker, are you there?"

 _"Ready and waitin' Shepard. What's up?"_ Joker's irreverent tone was welcome in the dingy gloom of the prothean ruins.

"I'm sending Charlie and half of Delta squad back to you. Williams is in charge of ground if I go out of communication. Is Pressley there?"

There was a pause, then the older Navigator's voice came in strong. _"I am here Commander. Orders?"_

Shepard stopped in front of a middle-aged man that had to be Fai-Dan next to a woman, a little younger than himself but wearing an expression that would curdle milk. "Keep the _Normandy_ in standby. Keep a weather eye out in case the Geth get any funny ideas. Chief Williams is in charge of the ground team, if I lose contact. If the geth come back in major numbers, get out of here and come back with the cavalry when you can."

 _"Aye sir,"_ The older man was experienced enough to keep things professional. A boon, given the times he'd experienced civilian interaction. _"Understood."_

"Shepard out." He clicked off the device and gave the couple a nod. "Commander Shepard, of the Alliance. What's the situation?"

The man looked about to speak, but his companion beat him to it. "It's about bloody time," she growled. "What took you so long? We've lost good people here!" She ignored her companion's longsuffering sigh. "How many days did you lollygag on your way to get here? A week? A month?"

Shepard growled, narrowing his eyes. "I'll try this again. I am Commander Shepard, of the _Normandy_. I have been across the galaxy three times in the past week, putting out fires no man should have to even _smell_ , let alone extinguish. When I got here, I had to send my team into the center of a _geth armada_ for the love of apple butter, and then take apart what seems to have been an organized geth company – which by the way almost threw me off this building." He took a breath, not needing to simulate the emotion; despite his efforts, anger rested close to the surface. But keeping his voice calm tended to unnerve people more than hormone-fueled shouting. Like they couldn't understand the concept of self-control. "So then, for the last time: what is the situation?"

The man held a hand against the woman's shoulder, quelling her next response. "I am Fai Dan, what I suppose you could call the leader of Zhu's Hope. At least, the port division. This is my security consultant, Arcelia Martinez. You have my thanks for helping us in our hour of need. Though I am wondering as well, what brings you here?"

"Two reasons," Shepard held himself down to a more respectful tone. The older man was obviously in a great deal of stress, so much so that he could pick up a slight tremble in the man's movements. "I received a report that the colony was off the network; no one has heard Feros in two weeks. Since the geth have been spotted in other areas, I was asked to take a look. The Fifth Fleet is above us right now, keeping an eye on what's left of the geth fleet."

"The geth are gone?" Fai Dan relaxed, almost falling over. Only Martinez's reflexes kept him from collapsing. "Thank heavens. But there are still many below; they are a thorn in our side."

Something happened there, Shepard noted the subtle tensing in Martinez's arm. Probably nerves.

"If you could see your way clear, to go through in the tunnels, we would be grateful." The older man coughed, His words were oddly emphasized as well, likely the result of some local vernacular. "Have I mentioned the freighter, Thor's Eden is late? It was supposed to bring supplies two months ago. It was supposed to bring supplies; power, food. We are not yet self-sufficient. Could you help?"

Shepard nodded slowly, the man was obviously beginning to lose it. "I'll look into it …" he said slowly, "What do you need?"

Martinez interjected, voice harsh and commanding. "That can be done later, right now we have to deal with the geth. We are a civilian colony, not accustomed to combat. The sooner you get rid of those things the better it will be for everyone!"

Blinking, Shepard stepped back from the woman's unexpectedly passionate outburst. What she'd … requested was as close to an order as one could get. Rather significant, given her rank. "Of course, they are why I'm here after all. What can you tell me of the geth placements, are they forming a base at any point?"

The elderly male shook off Martinez's hand, which had somehow latched onto his upper arm again. The manner of his clenching hands indicated mild pain, possibly from the arthritic – inducing nature of the planet. If the man hadn't accepted gene mods for resisting the condition, he likely would be placing in an order for them soon. "You would need to check the tunnels, accessible from the elevator over there. If you have any Caucasian crewmembers, I would advise caution. Some of them abhor arians."

Shepard shook his head; the man exhibited classic signs of concussion. _On top of stress, fear of his life and whatever diet he'd been eating, it was no wonder._ Now that he thought about it, there had been far more colonists just resting.

 _It must have been a siege,_ he realized. _One of the more terrifying types of warfare; constant attacks, minimal respite, and with no news? Good Lord. It is a mercy we came when we did._

"I'll send a squad to help out with the water. Keep your people back, my boys are some of the best in the business." Over his earpiece, he could hear Ashley already coordinating a volunteer mission. He smiled. "My Second is coordinating a response team. She's good. Now, what of the geth, where are they?"

This time Fai Dan did collapse, falling to one knee before Martinez seized his shoulder. "The … ExoGeni … building might … have what you need. You want to stop the geth, right? The geth!" he regained control, breathing heavily as if in a race. "That is where you must go." The old man tilted back, looking up at him, face unreadable. "Hurry, Commander. There is not much time. Yes, the geth are not going to wait."

Liara tapped Shepard's elbow; he took the hint pulling back a few steps. It felt disconcerting, seeing a man fall to dementia before his time. "You aren't looking very good, could I convince you to come aboard the Normandy? Doctor Chakwas is the best in her field."

The man whimpered, massaging his temple with one hand. Martinez helped him to his feet. She looked over the man's shoulder, "No, Commander. He's just tired, the geth attacks have been most wearing. A good rest is all we need, then we can get back to work."

"If you're certain?"

Fai Dan waved him off, smiling as he did so. "I haven't felt this good since before … before the trouble started. I trust you, Shepard." The last was delivered with a unique twitch of his head, something Shepard could yet again not interpret. The relief felt by the older man was obvious, however, and appeared to be shared by Martinez.

A quick look around at the colonists visible from Shepard's current position looked to be identical expressions, from what he could tell. There was weariness, certainly, and more than a healthy indication of fear. Those sitting wrapped limbs around each other, or nearby objects, clutching to anything that offered support. A couple as old as his parents if they were still alive, huddled just within eyesight, wrapped around each other with enough force to rival a python. Yet, they did not look reassured by the contact. Rather, their muscles remained taught, jaws clenched, and the woman was crying softly as if in pain.

Civilian reactions in any given conflict were, by definition, conflicting. Sighing, he made a note to request therapists in the next response team to Feros.

"Ashley," he switched modes, wishing he'd brought his helmet for more privacy. But who could have expected paranoid colonists? _Besides yourself, you mean, Mister 'Mindoir Man'?_ Wincing, he made a note for the next shift. "Do you have a duty roster for relief efforts?"

Blank silence filled the channel, a thoughtful silence instead of a dead one on a blocked channel. _"We have enough armed and ready. And the marines are itching to stretch their legs, show the squids a thing or two. All looking quiet from here."_

Possible. Humans were adapted to feel calm at the sight of lush green fields, or forests. Or at most plant life, if he recalled the old texts correctly. He needed answers. "Thanks Ash, I'm headed for the ExoGeni headquarters, clean out the geth there and pick up whatever data I can on Saren. Keep an eye out, get a few more lads up there if you need to."

 _"Aye sir,"_ one of the _Epimetheus_ mechanical armor suits pivoted in his direction, causing all of the massive armor sets to rotate. All raised a weapons-arm, mimicking a wave. _"Good luck."_

Shepard let his gaze drift, taking in the entirety of the colonial port. The defeated attitude was there, present on every set of visible shoulders. Despite the vanquished geth, the Alliance fleet in orbit, and the presence of the best human soldiers in the galaxy. Or near best, close enough. _Civilians. Never understand them._

* * *

Relinquishing the Mako from the _Normandy_ took minimal time. Mapping a route to ExoGeni, even less. Selecting whom to take and whom to leave behind, however, had been tiring. Everyone wanted to go, which would leave the colony unprotected, should the geth approach once more. But the trip as just an exploratory passage, not a full-fledged invasion. Whatever the geth wanted, it probably wasn't the data in ExoGeni servers; company policy ensured crucial data was either destroyed under attack, or sent out electronically or through physical data packets to secure locations.

 _Unless the geth just wanted the office supplies? Or were interning there for Saren? Unlikely._

Most of the squad, therefore, was left behind. Part of Charlie squad rode in a second Mako behind his own, forming one of the smallest convoys possible.

The Mako he rode lurched in place, shifting onto another extension. Constructing multi-kilometer-high towers evidently forced the Protheans to create roads miles above the ground. Ancient wires still poked out of the edges, once connected to systems shredded by the ravages of the elements long ago. Their tell-tale appearance however, gave Shepard a funny feeling. The shininess of the metal, plus its presence still on the surface of ancient hardware meant a superconductor at the least; anything less would have rusted within centuries. Human constructs, made with concrete developed in the last century – needed replacement within decades. Unless using the 'Roman' formula, a century was the most anyone could expect. But why hadn't ExoGeni started stripping the superconductors from the pathways?

The Mako rocked once more, sending him once more into the side of the vehicle. Small numbers of geth had opened fire periodically, testing the vehicle's defenses. Fortunately, with Tali now inside, it was as if annoying insects were draining the shield. Within seconds, Wrex's position in the turret mowed down the offending unit, and the entire group was treated to the krogan version of smug laughter.

Truthfully, he did sound gleeful. Like a happy rock. A happy rock, crushing everything around itself into powder.

Shepard shook his head, now safely encased within the confines of a helmet. The muted sound was driving him crazy, but at least he could speak without being overheard. Speaking of which, "Joker. You there?"

Chewing sounds emanated from the earpieces; was the sound quality that much better? Or had he caught out the indefatigable pilot for once? A distinct gulping hit his ears. _"I'm here Commander. Sorry, lunch break."_

"At the cockpit?"

 _"I'm pulling an extra shift for Addison. She has a checkup that kept being delayed. Something Chakwas wanted me to remind you about?"_

Grumbling, Shepard changed the subject. "It looks like we're going to be moving along quickly here. Can you run a scan of the port? Look for explosives, or chatter on odd frequencies. Anything suspicious." He had to pause as another artillery strike rocked the Mako. "Get some of Delta squad in on it as well. They should have a couple people off duty right now."

More chewing sounds, abruptly halted with a strained gulp. _"Um, yeah. Gotcha Shepard. By the by, thanks for ordering the deluxe stuff. This actually tastes like real meat! Not up to a real hamburger, but close. Maybe next time you could spring for a grill?"_

"Put it on the requisition list," Shepard chuckled. Talking with the pilot was always amusing. "I'll push it through the quartermaster."

 _"You're the best! Joker out."_

The cheerful sendoff was drastically undercut by an alarm. Tali jumped in her seat, clawing at her control board. "On it, overflow on the main capacitor … cutting in backups … and … got it!"

Shepard just shook his head. The quarian was one of the most technically proficient individuals he'd ever encountered. Why had she been allowed to leave the Flotilla? Someone with her talents could have commanded a salary of her own choice in the private sector; possibly demand her own post in the Fleet. But then, quarians did things a little differently than the Alliance. Holding posts on colonial worlds held more prestige than the ships … at least for now. Time would tell if the Alliance/Quarian agreements would continue. Given the current geth situation, it was more than likely, but _likely_ just meant _probable_.

Something equally probable was the likelihood of a spy on his ship. Admiral Hackett had known of things not yet told, Udina had news of things that had only just happened, and the reports he'd been receiving from … Emrys … seemed to demonstrate a strange knowledge of the goings-on aboard the _Normandy_ than he was comfortable.

And yet, the crew was getting faster. The squads were becoming better trained, and deadlier than almost any other squad he'd ever worked with. Fighting an entire company of geth was something out of history texts, a feat considered nigh-impossible for an asari company. Turians could have done it, but at cost. Quarians … definitely couldn't have done it. They'd failed time and time again for three hundred years.

"Fascinating," Liara's voice pulled him from his thoughts. Her face was pressed as close to the external screens as possible without actually touching it. "The design is older than I had thought. But it is so … intact! Almost as if they simply rose up and just … left. Why?"

Shepard glanced at the structures. "Remember what I told you, about Reapers?"

"Of course, but that does not explain why an entire planet filled with the remnants of Prothean artifacts remain. Goddess, if this planet had been discovered a century ago, it would be swarming with archaeologists. And the Alliance has only a few teams here? It is a treasure trove of potential!" Liara folded her arms over her ample chest compressed by battle armor, still watching the screen. "There was obviously conflict at some point; look at how those towers are lacking levels their neighbors contain. Bridges – they must transit platforms, but above other structures. Why? Who did this? Where did they go?"

He could see her point. "Perhaps I can set up a more qualified investigation, when there is time. I have some sway in ExoGeni, and not inconsiderable funds at my own disposal. Would you know someone who would be interested in consulting …?"

Liara's head whipped in his direction so quickly he heard the helmet thunk against the Mako's ceiling. It was eerie, the sudden stillness she was exhibiting after her animated appraisal. The genetic lineage of the asari predator links appeared very obvious in how her attention focused on him. "Do you mean it? A fully funded investigation of Feros?"

"Certainly." Shepard checked his blade, ensuring its catch remained locked. "If the Reapers are coming, if Saren is looking for something to help the Reapers, then we need to know everything we can. That means looking at every – oof!"

Liara pounced over the seat back, wrapping her arms around his neck in an awkward hug, jamming his faceplate against her chest. Just as quickly, she released him, jamming her way back into the straps loosened by her passage. "My apologies, I did not mean to … it's just that I have always dreamed about …."

"Forget it," Shepard caught Tali looking at him, her helmet tipping between the asari and himself. Her shoulders were shaking, and while he couldn't hear anything, he knew she was laughing. _Blasted quarians._

 _"Commander, we're almost there."_ A cool, collected voice came from the front. Vakarian, self-proclaimed sniper, ladies man, and apparently driver without compare, had commandeered the task. Shepard didn't mind; his own driving skills were adequate, but if a better driver were present, relinquishing control meant nothing. Pride had no place on the battlefield. Something that most of his squad members knew, but not all.

Musing on the thought brought no satisfaction. Either the people under his charge would learn it, or would not. Ostensibly, they were professionals, it was obvious how well they were trained. Some were veterans, deserving of the honorific. The rest … he'd classify as 'capable young warriors,' but not quite at the elite level.

 _Yet_.

They were responding well, however. Very well indeed.

"Commander, I'm picking up some chatter," Tali announced. "Sounds like they can see us, but I can't pick up anything on the scanners. Want us to pull over?"

Shepard spared a moment's thought, and shook his head. "Give 'em a standard contact burst, include my ID for authorization. Let them know where we're headed, and request any pertinent data. Contact Ashley and have her tell Charlie to stop by, make sure they're all right."

While her fingers flew across her omni-tool, he looked at the forward-facing screen. Ahead, he could make out the site chosen by ExoGeni for their headquarters. Unlike the port town of Zhu's Hope, this skyscraper appeared more intact. Patched repair work – obviously new by comparison – gave the monolithic structure a roguish appearance, somewhat akin to the building sensibilities of the Titan colonists by Jupiter. Living around a gas giant had to affect the mind, he was certain of it.

Further down the tower, he could see craters in the tower's superstructure, and tracks leading to lift carts above them. That meant ExoGeni had been refurbishing the tower, and continuing repairs along its length. It was a sound strategy, especially for a colony site dedicated to retrieving information – if a bit heavy handed. Refurbishing a structure allegedly fifty thousand years old presupposed that the individuals knew exactly how it was originally built. But by scanning every square inch and removing everything that looked as if it could hold data, quick progress could be made.

The booming of the Mako's main cannon brought his attention to the entrance. An Armature, ten feet tall and twice that wide scrambled to one side. Its secondary weapons opened up, sprinkling the Mako with light machine gun fire, chipping away at the shield. Before the machine's main gun could fire another of its lazily moving plasma shots, the Mako's main gun fired again. This time it made direct contact, obliterating the machine's chassis.

"Not bad," Wrex came into view as the turret seat lowered into the main body of the Mako. "It's no Tomkah, but not bad. With some more teeth, it could be better."

Getting out of the side panel, Shepard paused to consider. The Mako's main gun was a 155 millimeter mass-accelerated cannon, almost literally an artillery piece welded to a mobile platform. Its predecessor, the M29 Grizzley had carried a slightly larger gun, the 175 millimeter cannon. But the turians boasted smaller caliber weaponry, with higher muzzle velocities, something the Alliance had deemed more wasteful – due to the greater eezo requirements. If this 'Tomkah' hit harder than a Mako, and given the krogan reluctance to stuff technology in their hardware … they probably had mass drivers than mass accelerators. "Maybe I'll just get a Tomkah for the _Normandy_ , send this one home."

Wrex glared at the wreckage of the Armature. "Better against these metal things. Can't hack a Tomkah, can't get it hung up on a railing either."

"I told you I was sorry," Garrus came out last, unfolding his lanky frame to its full height. "We got off the rail in less than thirty seconds, what are you complaining about? Besides, the only reason a Tomkah wouldn't get _hung up_ is because it doesn't have thrusters. Or any processing power higher than a calculator."

Wrex slapped Garrus on the backplate in an affable manner, nearly slamming the turian face first into the Mako. "Ah, don't worry turian. You couldn't handle a Tomkah anyway."

Checking his weapons, Shepard took point, choosing to ignore the pair. Their … interaction had grown decidedly less caustic over time. Friendly insults were an improvement in his eyes. "Focus. We want to get in, get the data, and get out. Anything that looks interesting, download a copy. If it looks dangerous, shoot first and ask questions later. Got it?"

A rumble of assent spurred him onward. _Now, if I were a machine, guarding a doorway, where would I hide?_

A pair of proximity mines slipped past, attaching themselves to the doorpost. Armax Arsenal models, he could see the tell-tale brand on the munitions center. Plus, the cone-shaped display gave it away, a focal point for the sensor package. It was a good opening; Garrus was beginning to anticipate his patterns … something he wasn't sure was more comforting, or unnerving. It had taken SAIS over two years before they'd learned enough to start tailoring their honey-traps for his particular tastes. Not that it had done them much good.

Mentally, Shepard made the switch to the tactical mindset. _Geth inside, know we're coming. Stacked up against the walls. How thick are they?_

Liara spoke up, answering his unspoken question. "I doubt they will be coming through the walls or flooring. The structure at the port was weakened underneath, this is not."

Signaling, Shepard split his squad into a pair of fireteams, leaving Garrus to watch from a sniper position. Wrex took one side, Tali right behind him while Liara flanked his own line of sight.

In a rush, he flipped a grenade through the opening, waiting the heartbeat before it detonated, and charged inside. Instantly, he dove to one side, evading oncoming fire. _Close quarters, no rifle_. Liara had returned his pistol, but he didn't draw it; that was for special occasions. Instead, he'd prepared his Brawler, and returned fire. "Team two, go."

Wrex barreled through the opening, shotgun spitting destruction. Tucked just behind him, Tali's own shotgun sang an equally powerful deathsong. Her normally chipper voice sounded an enhanced burst from her vocabulator, reverberating off the walls in a challenging roar. "Come get it _bosh'tets_!"

It felt like chess to Shepard, predicting the geth positions as early as he could. It just made sense, pure logic in a way unaffected by emotion or hormones. If a better angle was presented – even if the footing was more precarious – the geth would send a representative to that point. Likewise, if sacrificing a unit would force his squad to move in a predictable fashion, they would make the sacrifice. Similarly, spotting an exposed unit of his squad would lure them into the open as well … but that trick was working less and less often now.

 _Dumb them down. Reduce processing power._

Mentally, he pinpointed five drone locations, placing them on the group HUD. "Liara, singularity here, then cover fire here. Garrus, targets of opportunity. In three – two – one."

Executing the maneuver, Shepard rose out of cover, discharging an Overload over one of the highlighted positions. _Two, three, four_. The Overload removed protective barriers as easily as it fried weaponry; perfect as a generic assault. What he couldn't shoot, became unprotected against his squadmates. That was the true purpose of a sniper; leveraging a small advantage into a significant one. His gift, whether behind a rifle or a pistol, or simply observing from a safe distance. Here, there was no safe distance.

 _Predictable_. Shepard tagged an oncoming Destroyer class Geth, draining its shields with two shots. He didn't bother targeting its higher-order processors, moving on to the next target as Tali eliminated the Destroyer with a single, well placed shotgun burst. _Without enough programs, they're simple. Tactics a novice in a nunnery could master._ Another two shots, one snapping the stalk supporting a geth's flashlight head, the second detonating the flashlight itself before it hit the floor. _Showing off again. Back to tactics, flow of battle is moving left to right, counterstrike comes in the left. Seed mines._

Garrus caught on to what he was doing, and added to the network of explosives on the far side of the room. _Fast on the uptake. Smart detective, good soldier. Better include him._

His attention turned to Wrex, how the large krogan balanced his massive size with mobility. Anything on Earth with that kind of mass would move more deliberately, less gracefully. Yet the battlemaster seemed to avoid every oversized blast sent his way. Not that his movements were elegant, just efficient. Every move held a purpose, positioning his large frame to its best advantage. At one point, Shepard witnessed the krogan duel three snipers at the same time, systematically taking them down, all while evading the constant stream of fire from a Prime's oversized assault rifle.

 _Not just talent, he has skill. Talent makes you good, practice makes you great._ Two near-misses broke his chain of thought, forcing Shepard to eliminate yet another sniper. _Idiot machine. Sniper rifle inside a building … good power, poor tracking. Design flaw._

A crescendo of explosions alerted him to his impromptu minefield. Two cloaked geth had detonated the charges, sapping their shields and leaving them vulnerable to outside influences. Like guns. And tech attacks.

"That's all of 'em," Garrus approached from his position in the back. "Good work Shepard. What's next?"

Shepard scowled at the interior of the ExoGeni structure. Its pockmarked walls indicated more gunfire than just one squad's efforts, even a squad like his. Yet, there were no bodies. "Split up and search this place. Something isn't right; every colony that has corporate backing on this level is required to have an FTL messenger boat or three and enough power to set up a few GARDIAN turrets. I thought this place wasn't far enough along in development, maybe under construction, but .…" he shook his head. "Thoughts?"

Wrex stood at one side, silently poking at the Prime's metal frame. "We can use some of these for salvage. Some of the guns might come in useful. If they still work."

"I'll hack what I can," Tali added. Her omni-tool sparkled brilliant orange in the gloom. "Maybe they left their computers here?"

Shepard nodded. Good ideas. "Carry on. Stay sharp; if you see geth, call for help and retreat." He fixed a gimlet stare at the one individual likeliest to disobey. "Even you, Wrex."

The krogan grumbled, but gave him reluctant acknowledgement.

Shepard smiled at the mismatched pair. Tali barely reached the krogan's shoulder, if she stood on her … phalanges? … toes? He shook his head; a question for later. The fact remained that here stood a small, svelte quarian performing teamwork with a krogan on a human colony, with a turian acting as support. _What would happen next? A human and turian?_

For a moment, he was distracted by Liara proceeding to the nearest corner, examining the surface. The geth parts throughout the room failed to deter her from pulling out some tool from and begin taking measurements. Despite himself, he had to admire her dedication. _Pulled into the middle of a warzone, on the far side of the galaxy, and she's still trying to learn. That's a true scientist, and a better person._ _N_ _ot bad looking either, if the reactions in the mess hall are any indication._

It was almost a pity that contract was in place; without it, he might have been tempted to get to know Liara better. But among the asari, _image_ was everything. Refusal followed by an appearance of non-contractual interaction held … implications. Besides, didn't he have enough to do? He shook his head, clearing thoughts that hadn't crossed his mind in over a decade. _Close to the end Shepard. Don't trip up at the finish line._

"Reporting for duty, Commander." A dry voice spoke up. Next to him, Garrus gave a relaxed salute. "Let's see how humans run a field investigation, alright?"

A smile broke out on Shepard's face, it felt … strange. _Me and my big mouth. Metaphorically speaking._ "You've been working with me on the _Normandy_ for over two weeks now. Don't you have a good idea by now?"

"Desk work," Garrus lifted two talons dismissively. "This is _field_ work. All the textbook procedures on the Citadel can't make up for poor field work. You may be an ace statistician, but can you find clues in the crime scene?"

"Crime scene? How do you mean?"

Garrus's mandibles flipped, the equivalent of clicking teeth. "Isn't that why you brought me? We're in the middle of a crime scene. Geth arrive in the middle of nowhere, Saren has his claws hooked in here up to his ponces, and we just happen to be in the main data repository of ExoGeni's colonial corporate site … alone? Unless of course, this is your idea of a date … in which case, I don't really go for the smooth-skinned look. Flattered though."

Snorting, Shepard activated his omni-tool. A few practiced motions opened his personalized forensics suite. "First off, let's look for hardware. Anything that can be used to store data."

"Good thought," Garrus agreed. His own omni-tool hummed to life. "No sense looking for DNA. Sealing the perimeter is probably useless at this point too." A faint glowing projection spread out from the turians wrist, coating the room in a grid of interlocking squares. "This must have been the foyer. Basic stuff; we need to get lower."

"Lower?" Shepard held out his own tool, scanning the smashed chunks of metal. "The network is still up. Beats me why."

A chunk of metal clunked under the turians boot. "Old geth technique; leave the local networks up, and they use 'em to increase their own processors. Didn't the Alliance have a shared education program going with the quarians? You're doing a lend-lease deal, aren't you?"

Scanning another defunct terminal, Shepard thought back slowly. "I think there was one, but I skipped it in favor of a xeno-toxicology course. Didn't like the looks of the quarian in charge."

"Ah." Garrus fell silent, studying his own scans. For a time, they worked in companionable silence. Occasionally, the sounds of Tali or Liara would echo through the chamber, exclamations of disgust or surprise.

Data scrolled across the omni-tool, noting average changes along with the differences in data. Routine information, standard information coming from the networks he could access. There were other data clusters of course, hidden behind the mainstream surface flow, but he'd get there in time. Right now, establishing a common theme was important, a control group against which to compare later results. Here in the lobby, ExoGeni would have presented its greatest lies, the most important veneer, all in the name of connecting their workforce to the company.

Later of course, he would investigate the vital lies, the ones of lesser scope, yet more important. The closer you reached to the top, the more data became available on a superficial scale. In his experience, the inconsistencies recorded by innocent underlings was more important, even if – or possibly because of – ignorance of higher policy. An honest earnings report, buried in a cluster of falsified charts, could do more to further an investigation than a terabyte of suspect reports.

"Moving up a level," he noted the change in location in the ongoing log function. "Preliminary analysis complete."

"Same," Garrus joined him as they ascended the stairway. "So far, it's clean."

"Of course. The juicy stuff is always just a narrow flight away."

The turian gave him a quizzical look. "You humans and your sayings."

"What?" Shepard looked back at him, puzzled.

"Never mind. Change of subject, why aren't there more geth here?" Garrus tapped the stock of his side-arm, set in easy reach on the upper portion of his hip. "Not that I'm complaining, but see-cue-see would be right out their duct in here. Why?"

"They only had one dropship make it this far, I think." Shepard entered the room at the top of the stairs, beginning the scan. A sub-program on his omni-tool flared to life, highlighting a terminal containing non-standard data. He made a beeline for it. "One dropship carries about four company's worth of geth units; less if they include the bigger units. I don't know how long Zhu's Hope was holding out, but between here and the port, there had to have been losses."

The turian nodded sagely. "And their comm chatter is rather … unique."

"To say the least," Shepard started downloading the suspect data. Something about a customer requisitioning units for experimentation? A guardian animal for … Hades? Nonstandard codewords. Definitely a red flag. "We may not be able to tell what geth say, but they're loud. Terrible at stealth, when you're paying attention to the radio waves."

"Hah, got something. Looks like a virus creator … hijacks omni-tools to create self-detonating mines? Very nice." Garrus's omni-tool flashed. "Got it. Perhaps I could ask the quartermaster for a copy of the software?"

"Better ask Tali," Shepard said dryly. "I let her have access to a few data files, and now it looks like she has almost everything I've seen."

"Hmm … you'd allow that?" Surprise was evident in the turian's voice.

He shrugged in response. "Why not? It's not something terribly difficult to find. Track, maybe, but very simple once you know how it works. Anything new on your end?"

Shaking his head, Garrus started moving towards the stairs once more. "Let's keep looking."

* * *

Their search lead through what could only be described as an intriguing labyrinth that was most likely unintended by the original builders. Stairs, filled with debris and half-molten building materials, gave a glimpse of what lay above. Every wall appeared stained with smoke; the sort of gritty material seen in oil-based fires. When Shepard touched the wall, the grime wiped away reluctantly, sticking to his glove like a thick paint.

"A lot of stuff burned here," he noted to no one.

A faint growl answered him from the other side of the hall. "It's clogging my nares." Garrus grumbled. The flat passages serving as his nostrils widened, wiggling slightly before narrowing again. It put Shepard in mind of a very tall rabbit. He resolved to never tell the turian of that particular thought.

"Not many bodies. Surprising."

Garrus flashed his omni-tool across the floor, scrutinizing the results. "Either they got away, or the geth hauled them off for processing. I read your reports on Eden Prime, Dragons' Teeth they called them?"

Shepard grunted an affirmative. Further along the room, a transparent blue barrier, not unlike the one he'd seen on Therum blocked a doorway. Rubble chunks large enough to carve out a small dwelling blocked other doorways, refuse from the open ceiling. That was a benefit at least; an open sky felt good, even if the closed helmet prevented him from enjoying it to the utmost. But that barrier was going to be a problem; how could he search out the rest of ExoGeni with a combat-strength energy barrier in the way? _Unless_ , he thought, _this is like Therum. Touch sensitive._

Slowly, he traced his fingers along the barrier, watching sparks fly from where the gauntlets touched. This time, nothing happened. No memory sparks, no reaction within the field itself. Nothing.

An alternate route needed to be found.

Another hour of searching revealed precisely one other way into the building, leaving him at an impasse. The passage required him to either drop into a trench where previous tenants had fashioned an improbably shaky ramp. Alternatively, he could turn around and go back to the Mako. There was still that pocket of colonists the sensors had detected on the way in …

He tapped the side of his helmet. "Tali, Liara, you there?"

A hiss of static cut in, then faded. _"Tali here."_ Her voice was closely followed by that of the asari scientist. _"T'Soni here."_

"I found an opening further into the building," he flashed his light around, examining the greasy walls. "Looks like a one-way drop, but there has to be a back entrance somewhere. Meet me at my NavPoint, and follow us in. Wrex, keep an eye out."

Accepting the acknowledgement, he resettled his shoulder plates. "Ready Vakarian? Wait – "

A crackling voice cut in over the headset. _"—der, do you c-c-c-c-c-copy?"_

"I'm here," he tapped the response tab on his omni-tool. It kept his hands near his weapons, just in case it was an attempt at distraction. "Go ahead."

 _"C-c-c-cleaning s-s-s-signal –el-el-el … gotcha. Comm specialist Tanaka here. I just received confirmation that the repairs assist has been completed. Water repairs, food boost, and that geth tower. Um, there's also a report from Lieutenant Sigurd …."_

Shepard waited, but the pause seemed to take a life of its own, long beyond the awkward stage. He coughed gently. "Yes?"

 _"Um … he says that they found a man down in the tunnels, all by himself. Unarmed."_

Lifting his eyebrows in surprise, Shepard tapped the switch again. "Surprising, but not exactly earth-shattering news. There are probably dozens of colonists spread out here."

 _"Yessir. It's just that, um, cleaned up a little, Lieutenant Sigurd questions the man's sanity. Very emphatically, and colorfully, sir."_

An interesting fact, on the surface. A madman, well and away from others, minding his own business elsewhere. Highly intelligent people – and a large selection of their antipodes – had gone insane from lesser afflictions. Callous as it seemed, there was no need to change plans for one individual suffering a version of PTSD. "Acknowledged, Specialist. Tell the squad good work and have them report to the _Normandy_ for cleanup."

Clicking off the communicator, he turned back to the turian waiting patiently at his side. "Ready, Garrus?"

The turian raised his assault rifle. "Right behind you, Shepard."

* * *

Going through the tunnel-like channel took a simple maneuver: drop roughly two meters, and walk forwards. What wasn't standard activity came in the form of a scientist, poorly trained in friend/foe identification, and possessing even less capacity for the basics of small arms fire control.

"I'm sorry!" A young woman, roughly his age if the lines on her hands were any indication, held a pistol in an unpracticed position. Apparently, she'd learned how to shoot from watching movies. "I thought you were varren, or those geth!"

Shepard fought down his reflexes. It had been a single shot, and depleted by his shields, which made it easier. "No blood, no report. Commander Shepard, Alliance Navy. And you are?"

The woman shook her head, as if shaking herself awake. Based on her motions, it seemed she'd been without sleep for quite some time. Over forty-eight hours, if he was any judge. "Me? Oh, I'm Lizbeth. Lizbeth Baynham. Doctor Baynham. And I'm tired. Who are you? Besides a soldier, I mean."

Shepard slowed down; she still held the pistol after all. "I'm investigating the actions of a former Council Spectre. Would you happen to know where I could get his information? I know he sent some representatives …."

He stopped to think the sentence over in his mind. Technically, he wasn't lying. Geth, although an aggressive, brutish choice for an advocate, did appear to be rendering their interpretation of Saren's interests, whatever they were. Ergo, they were his representatives … which was another indication of how far the former Spectre had fallen. Sending thugs that were obviously seen as the greatest living threat to Council society, working Saren's will? _Unless it was a deliberate statement of power; that could be the point. Demonstrating capabilities that the combined forces of the krogan, asari and major turian forces couldn't accomplish._

Food for thought. It had many levels of meaning.

Brief though his musings were, it had made an effect on the little scientist. Her shoulders were hunched in on her neck, knees slightly bent. The ancient Acute Stress Response; Fight or Flight. Cursing himself, Shepard made yet another note to attempt relaxing when speaking with civilians.

"I'm sorry," he did his best to project a more casual bearing. "It has been a long day. How did you end up here?"

Tension leaked from Lizbeth's frame. "It's my own fault. Everyone started running, and I stayed behind to back up data. Next thing I know that geth ship latched on and … the power went out. I got trapped, when I tried to get out, the way was blocked. Some kind of energy field."

Shepard glanced at the bodies of several dead varren, lying near her position. That backed up her story, at least in part. "Fair enough. Why wouldn't the geth want anyone to get in here?"

She fidgeted. "Um, probably because they don't want anyone to get access to … um … the Thorian."

That hadn't been on the briefing. "Thorian? What's that?"

Lizbeth relaxed still more, gaining a more professional air. "It's an indigenous lifeform unlike well, anything really. ExoGeni first discovered it about three years ago, maybe a year after Zhu's Hope was founded."

"Hmmm," Garrus's mandibles widened, then clamped flat. Textbook exhibition of a suspicious turian. "Why would the geth be after something like that?"

The creaking rumble of falling debris interrupted the conversation. A booming explosion, almost drowned out by the sound of the synthetic avalanche, rumbled through the darkened chamber. Dust flew past Shepard's legs; the lack of plant life reduced any detritus to what had decomposed from stone and metal over the millennia; and an odd assortment of flat things that would have been leaves on a more hospitable planet. Shepard waited for the aftershocks to fade before pulling up his comm. "Shepard here. Report."

Hissing static met his ears, then a weak signal. _"Shepard? Th-th-th-this is Tali. One of those rocket trooper bosh'tet's set off an explosive, brought down the ceiling. We ca-ca-ca-can't get to you!"_

He sighed. Complications, everywhere; when would they end? "Check for alternative routes. If you still can't find anything, grab Wrex and Liara, then head back to the Mako. Wait for further orders there."

 _"Aye Shepard. Will do."_ Legally speaking, there was none of the required Alliance representative present for operating the Mako. But Wrex was under contract, and Liara had the trust of the Council … which had to count for something. If he worked that angle, emphasizing the trustworthiness of the aliens, and how little they could get away with on a roadway based in a hostile terrain, it should be acceptable. For most of Alliance Command.

How he hated politics.

Turning back to the scientist, he gave a half smile. "When we find a way out, we'll let you know. Now, why would Saren want a plant?"

The scientist shook her head. "Not just a plant, a plant dating back tens of thousands of years. Possibly more."

Shepard upgraded the threat potential. "Alright, a very old plant. Why?"

She shrugged, helpless. "I think it might have something to do with an investigation he's doing. They won't tell me much; I've only worked for ExoGeni for two years."

There was more to her words, but that could wait. There were growling sounds emanating from the darker corners of the chamber; and that took precedence. "Garrus. Company."

The turian's sniper rifle unfolded, a deadly flower of metal and polymers. "Got it. Painting five varren. Easy targets."

Shepard holstered the sidearm, drawing the _urfbhert_. "Even better. Watch my back. Lizbeth, stay in the corner, call out if something odd happens."

The growling fish-dogs cut off any response she might have made. A spear would have been better, was made for this kind of thing. But varren had a low jump capacity, and he wore armor comparable to chevalier quality hardware. _Add my melee training, and I have an edge._ His teeth shone in the gloom, visible even through the darkened visor. _Pun_ _intended._

Garrus's long gun spoke, tearing into the furthest varren. Shepard danced forwards, stroking the edge of his blade through the neck of another. It snarled, but without an intact spinal column, could do nothing more than die on the floor.

Concentrating, Shepard worked his way through the small pack, applying force where necessary. His proximity obliged the beasts to focus on him, while Garrus picked off their peripheral members. Between the two of them, the pack lasted less than five minutes, before the room lapsed into comparative silence.

"Good moves, Shepard. Ever thought of going on the circuit? Garrus's nimble talons cleaned a bit of grime from the side of his rifle. It was like sandpaper, the way his rough skin abraded against the metal.

"I did that for a few years," Shepard sheathed the sword. "Pistols and swordplay. Learned a lot, did a lot. Used to wow 'em in the Outer colonies, about twelve years ago."

"You … how … where did …" the scientist, formerly huddled in a corner, stammered like a poorly trained parrot. She shook her head vigorously. Her expression was unreadable. "How?"

Garrus exchanged a sidelong look with Shepard. "I think she's talking to you."

 _She's in shock._ Shepard noted the still shaking hands and pale skin. _Reduced circulation, long time without food, stressed, keep explanation short._

He cleared his throat. "Stay safe here. We'll get that barrier down, and get out that way."

She nodded dumbly, not responding. Not being able to read her expression was … frustrating. Even so, he could tell nothing he'd said had made it through.

"I think you broke her," Garrus's amused voice made his head hurt. It even sounded smug.

Shepard growled under his breath. "Not helping, Garrus. Lizbeth! Stay with me!"

The woman blinked at him, like one of Mindoir's lagomorphic herbivores in a speeder's headlights. He moved closer, forcing her attention to his face. "Stay. Here. You will be safe until we get back. Do you understand?"

Her throat gulped. "Yea … yes. I understand. Than – thank you."

Shepard waited until the scientist had retreated to a corner before joining Garrus on the far side. Civilians. Existence would be impossible without them, but immeasurably difficult because of them.

* * *

Entering the far side's exit, Shepard took point, pistol at the ready. The short hall was darkened, like the entrance to an old tomb. Shepard's feeling though, reminded him of an old ancestral manor. A sort of majesty still clung to the decrepit walls, remnants of an erstwhile race. Scraps of heraldic material were almost visible in his peripheral vision; faded colors of the more powerful squadrons.

That made him snort, amused at himself. How had he forgotten about them? Hadn't they defeated the Metacons in the Fifth Turning of _Jal'tan_?

 _Forget my own head if it weren't screwed on tight._ Shepard checked his sidearm, unsheathing his blade once again. Two turns and they'd be out of the narrow confines, but in an area that probably held close-quarters situation. Just to be certain, he loosened the restraints on the Brawler. Quick-draws weren't just for show, they meant the difference between death and life.

"Watch your right," he warned Garrus. "Opening up ahead."

He could see it too, how the plating in the wall once designed to withstand the full force of Feros's Semi-Centennial winds, began its curve. Two meters downward, and another ten over, there would be a dropoff.

A niggling worry pushed against the back of his mind, but he ignored it. The dropoff point loomed just ahead.

Below, the massive landing claw of a geth dropship filled most of a hole in the wall. The hole itself looked ancient, barring the more recent signs of trauma, but provided a way for massive power cables to enter the building. That, by itself, was jarring. What made more warning bells go off in Shepard's mind was the pair of infantry-class geth, kneeling by the cables.

Shepard paused. Were they … _praying_?

Silently, he motioned Garrus to approach, and gestured over the edge. The turian followed his motion, pupils widening at the sight.

When the detective's rifle extended, Shepard instinctively reached out, pushing it down. _No_ , he shook his head at Garrus's curious look. _Not now. Stealth, forwards._

The pair moved in silence. Shepard's training over the course of his career more than equal to the task. He was pleased that the turian seemed to have an equally rigorous training. Garrus also seemed to appreciate the value of silence as well, holding his questions until after they'd reached a safer distance. With that range, Shepard's omni-tool provided an excellent image-capture enhancement; he took several pictures, focusing on the geth's unusual body positions. Perhaps Tali would be able to discern something useful.

"Shepard," Garrus cast a concerned glance back along the hall. "Not that I don't appreciate the aesthetics of a hall lacking my blood, but … what happened back there? Why didn't we destroy those geth?"

It was an important term Shepard noticed; _destroy_ rather than _kill_. "They didn't react. Not when we got close, or when we were chatting on the airwaves. Why?"

Further back, neither of the two units had moved. "They're malfunctioning? Trying to set up an ambush?"

Shepard shook his head. "They looked fine. No battle damage, no repairing. Geth don't leave valuable resources lying around; they can strip an infantry chassis in less than a minute. No, something else was going on there … and it felt really close to a church service."

Garrus stared at him for a second before shaking his head. "I just hope you know what you're doing."

Shepard's reply got cut off by a buzzing of his intercom. "Shepard here."

 _"Shepard, this is Tali'Zorah. We just encountered a krogan, working for Saren!"_

"So did you kill him?"

The quarian's voice held agitation. _"Of course you bosh'tet! But Wrex says he didn't recognize any markings, and he was working with geth!"_

"Interesting …." Shepard parsed the new data for a moment, then shelved it. "Keep tabs on the perimeter. It looks like a dropship is locked on the side of the building, powering an energy field. Garrus and I will get it off, then meet up with you."

Tali sounded skeptical. _"You and Garrus will destroy an entire geth dropship, by yourselves? Commander, entire quarian squads have died trying to do that."_

He let compassion bleed through his overtones, light enough to be felt but not quite enough to be consciously noted. "Then I guess we'll be the first. Don't worry so much; we got this."

Clicking off the connection, he caught Garrus looking at him. "What?"

The turian lifted one mandible in a characteristic smirk. "You like her, don't you?"

Shepard growled under his breath, and shoved past. "Not you too."

"It's kinda cute actually. She thinks the world of you, and you don't know what to do with that kind of attitude." Garrus strolled along behind him, as if it were just a walk in the park. "I mean, it's like she sees you as the big brother she never had. Family is important to quarians, very important. I bet you could upgrade from brother to a little something more if you gave her the right signals. Maybe a bit of _cinctus_ for her suit? What girl wouldn't like a little jingle to mingle?"

"This conversation is over." Shepard rounded the corner. Wrecked machinery, human manufacture, lay everywhere. "Check out that hardware. If you have time to gossip, you have time to work."

The laughing quality didn't leave Garrus's flanged tones. "Whatever you say, Commander."

* * *

 _"Angela Jawthins, July nineteenth, Project Thorian. As the previous entry suspected, Species Thirty-Seven resides under Zhu's Hope. Initial test results remain conclusively negative; there are no similar genetic traits determined between Species Thirty-Seven and existing flora on alternate test sites."_

Shepard scrolled through the data. Copies spooled onto his omni-tool, doubling the feed to a second hard drive in his pouch. Another entry caught his eye; he tapped the icon. A staid, male voice rumbled from the speakers, dry as the Prothean air around him.

 _"… epigenetic throwback to a less sessile form. Reversion under standard conditions resulted in a mobile chloroplast, exhibiting photosynthesis. Spores from the modern specimen exhibit similar mobility; test infections isolate auxiliary neural pathways and stimulate new connections. This adds to the hypothesis that pre-sessile specimens required motile symbiosis for propagation –"_

He cut it off. Just below the entry lay a promising-looking link ….

 _"The thorian – excuse me, Species Thirty-Seven – has developed remarkable control over spores no longer contiguous to its epidermis. The control exerted over this detached material doesn't register on any of our EMF scanners. We can't exactly put the Thorian on a gurney and do a lobotomy … but what if a vertebrate were in contact? We know neural pathways are altered, could it be a sympathetic 'tuning' of the minds? The asari would know more about this, but after the last 'accident,' Aitch-Cue isn't allowing any more 'investment representatives' near any asari. A pity."_

Shepard made sure that record had a copy in his growing evidence drive. He'd have to investigate the recent suicide on ExoGeni's watch more deeply. His finger stabbed the controls again, coaxing the virus to bypass the thickest firewall yet.

 _"Nelson, October Sixth, Project Thorian. Results indicate an 80% partial infection rate within thirty days. Complete control is achieved over an estimated ten percent of the population within the first two weeks, but now less than five percent appear to be un-infected."_

His blood ran cold. Quickly, he looked for other entries by the same individual.

 _"Nelson, October Thirteenth, Project Thorian. All of Zhu's Hope is now under the control of the Thorian. Security had to deal with a potential leak, Doctor Baynham has taken exception to the methodology, but a reprimand seems to have calmed her. Additional evidence from the contracts signed by the colonists gave her further proof of our intentions. They will be fine; it's one of the risks of colonization. Speaking of which, there was nearly a leak from Zhu's Hope itself. Ian Newstead has been highly resistant; I must remind Jeong to remand Mister Newstead's communications permissions. The experiment is at a delicate stage … I am curious, what will the Thorian do next?"_

Shepard's fingers shook. That particularly damning bit of evidence sent a copy to a direct link to his cabin aboard the _Normandy_. After a moment of thought, he copied the rest of the data as well; no sense in being incautious.

"Commander," Garrus called from the far side of the room. "I have something. An unregistered shipment went from here to a planet out in the Terminus Systems … for a private group of investors. No credits listed, but there's an account number."

He keyed a download of the rest of the panel. "They have a name?"

Garrus's talons flicked over the haptic surface with practiced ease. "Hmmm, they go with code names. Nothing useful. Wait, there's a reference to someone called 'Charon,' that ring a bell?"

"Greek mythology figure. Ferried souls to Hades," Shepard finished his copy. "Duplicate what you have, and let's get out of here. This place makes my skin crawl."

"Agreed." The other terminal powered down. "Thoughts on that geth ship?"

That was an uncomfortable situation. "Rockets. Enough should blow it apart."

"And the building?" Garrus countered. "I don't know Prothean architecture like you do, but if a barrage can get through geth hull armor, it can probably damage the building as well."

That brought Shepard up short. Prothean architecture? He didn't know … memories flashed in front of his eyes. The hallways, clean and pristine; fallback points, ambush positions. Memories a simple smith from the backwoods couldn't know. _The Beacon again. What is it doing to me?_

He shook the cobwebs from his mind. Time enough to consider the problems later, preferably with Doctors Chakwas and T'Soni helping. "This level of colony usually has GARDIAN towers set up. It certainly rates them with the stations in place; I didn't see any emplacements, did you?"

Garrus checked his flank, eyes moving in cautious sweeps. "Negative. Plenty of power cables, but nothing that looked like it could shoot."

Shepard reviewed his newly-added memories. They slipped in and out of grasp, hazy through the lens of the mind's eye. "There should be a storage chamber below us. That's where ExoGeni would have stashed the generators; hook those up to the dropship and we can generate an EMP field strong enough to shut it down."

"Hold it," Garrus turned to look at him directly. "You're saying geth, which are software programs, wouldn't have an effective defense against an EMP? Of any group in the galaxy, they're probably the ones with the most defense capacity against that very thing!"

"Defense, not immune." Shepard corrected. "Like waterproof. It only goes to a certain point, and then all bets are off."

"Fine. Just so you know …."

His gaze caught the cables attaching the computers to each other, and more significantly, to the ExoGeni power systems. All were of a far higher gauge than required – had ExoGeni? No, they wouldn't be so foolish, would they? "Garrus, can you get me a reading on those power cables? And where they all lead?"

"Sure," the turian flipped his omni-tool open. "Not a problem. Why would … oh. Oh dear."

"Exactly." Shepard's voice felt as grim as it sounded. "The idiots used GARDIAN generators to set up their own personal power supply. No wonder the geth were able to just park on the main building. Idiots."

Garrus snorted in amusement. "At least it means we don't have to go hunting all over the place."

"That would be me," Shepard tapped his temple, "I'll head down and flip over the generators to a DC current, rev them up to maximum capacity; I assume you know how to run a recursive shunt across resistant servers? We may have a lot of power to play with, but we'll need to use all of it if we're going to overload a geth server farm. If the hardware we've taken down is any indication, they're built Ford Tough."

A moment of silence inserted itself in the conversation, blatantly setting up an occupation center and watching the confused interaction. Turian and human culture encountered yet another discrepancy.

"Built … what now?" Garrus tapped one hip, a sign of confusion.

"Ford tough, like a rock … nevermind. Old human saying. It means very durable." Shepard jerked his thumb at the cables. "Let's get going. We have work to do."

The turian shuffled slightly, then moved onwards, grumbling. Shepard ignored the less-than-subtle jabs at 'crazy humans' and their penchant to speak in code.

Leaving the turian to continue his soliloquy, Shepard followed the wires towards their source. Logically, the thickest cables held the greatest amount of power; even if there weren't faint glimmers of something rattling beneath his conscious memory's surface. Using the trail of wires and logic as his guide, Shepard soon found himself in the power center.

He shook himself, almost attempting to pinch any available skin before forcing the augmented armor away. The generator room was … vast. More akin to the massive requirements of agricultural equipment storage than a comparatively simple room for power supply. Cables, thick as his thigh, ran from the machines to crudely made holes in the ceiling, drilled by people more concerned with efficiency than appearance.

A thought came to mind. "Tali," he tapped the earpiece, "I have a quartet of GARDIAN grade generators. Looks like a few terajoules; can you talk Garrus through setting up a power loop on a geth dropship?"

After a pause, her voice came through strongly. " _Overload a dropship? You'd have to connect them to the power core and synchronize them … no that wouldn't work. But if you bypass safeties … what power output did you say?"_

Shepard glanced at the generators towering over him. Each loomed well above that of a Juggernaut, possibly even a geth Armature. "I'm thinking along the lines of enough power to operate six fire-linked Aitan cannon. We have a pair on the _Normandy_ , not sure what their draw is."

Her voice gained a distracted quality _. "Yes, Adams won't let me work with them. But they have a significant power consumption rate, over double a GARDIAN tub. Yes … that should be enough. The geth have energy barriers, hooked directly to their ship's power center; could you hook up the generators to the geth cables?"_

"I can do that, Garrus is already working on it up there." Shepard started searching for the controls. "Yeah, it's definitely in the terajoules range. More than five coulombs."

Malicious laughter echoed into his receiver. He paused, but it continued, bordering on maniacal. "Um, Tali? Are you there?"

The laughter cut off. _"Shepard? Hem, sorry. The signal is breaking up. Kcchhhhhh,"_ The signal buzzed, like someone blowing into their pickup. _"That – kchhhhhh – should be enough. I'll talk to Garrus, you just – kcchhhhh – wait to turn on full power. Okay? Great, I'll get back to you."_

Shepard stared at nothing in particular, the memory of her laughter running through his mind. "Sometimes, I miss my sanity."

* * *

Shepard waited, checking his calculations and planning his next move. _I'll have to check for a volus audit group, see if they'd be willing to check an Alliance company. Regs should cover it, and those guys are vicious._

He tapped a note to himself, copying it over to a send program. It joined the other ideas he'd been jotting down while waiting. _Have to bring the hammer down on Tevos and Udina; finish up the mess they started. Don't forget Fist; Wrex has a contract, can't ignore it. Kahoku had a problem, better check in with him since he hasn't contacted me._ Numbers scrolled past his visor, suggesting different avenues. _Can't buy out ExoGeni, but I can run them into the dirt. It's slavery, plain and simple, especially if I can throw in an embezzlement charge._

A voice buzzed into his ear. _"Shepard, we're ready to go."_

"Good." Shepard closed his application. The generators hummed, rumbling a bass counterpoint to the higher-pitched fans whirling at the sides of the room. It felt like pure potential.

Working quickly, he flipped the switches. Unlike lighter equipment, these generators had heavy steel levers, engaged as fail-safes. With them cut in, the power output was limited to something under half of their potential. But, by releasing the safeties, he could more than double the power. "Powering up gee-one," the generator throbbed to life.

 _"Diversion underway,"_ Tali's voice came back strong. _"Hurry Shepard, I can't keep them busy for too long."_

Long strides carried Shepard to the second generator. The lever slid into place with a solid clunking finality. "Gee-two online. Moving to Gee-three."

No answer spurred him to faster motion. Generator three hummed into a higher activity level, leaving him to jog to the fourth generator. Whirring clicking noises made him first look for geth, but then discount the sound as the cooling systems started kicking on. The fourth lever slid into place, making the room's close quarters practically vibrate at the full power.

"Full power on. Fire away Garrus!"

Even with the sound-canceling properties of his helmet, the noise was deafening. Shepard fought the urge to cover his head, using the energy to get as far from the room as possible. Overpowering a geth ship held sound tactics, but there were equally sound reasons for not powering GARDIAN batteries to sustained full strength.

 _"Yeah, take that!"_ a flanged, turian victory yell boomed over his earpiece. _"Geth taking casualties. Energy barrier is flickering, looks like it's coming down, Shepard."_

An ululating call made made Shepard's hackles rise, rising and falling in a bloodcurdling expression of rage. Instinctively, he jumped for cover, pistol out and ready to fire. The sound ended abruptly, almost immediately followed by a sheepish-sounding Tali. _"Sorry Commander. I forgot to turn off the headset."_

Stunned, Shepard tapped the side of his helmet. Little Tali, the engineer so shy as to be nearly invisible in crowds, could scream like that? Then again, he'd seen her wield a shotgun with the consummate professionalism expected of a fully-trained marine. If she'd received that kind of training – and if his brief interaction with her father had taught him anything, she had – then there was minimal excuse for her capacity. "Not a problem. Just give me a heads up next time."

By now he'd grown familiar enough with her methods to recognize an embarrassed sign out. He refrained from noting it verbally. "Garrus, tell me what we have."

 _"One big dead geth dropship, that's what."_ The turians voice held an undeniable sense of satisfaction. _"There were still a few little geth around, but I think we got most of 'em back at Zhu's Hope. I don't think they were expecting a counterattack quite so soon. It's still hanging there, but as dead as a volus fashion show."_

"Right …" Shepard considered the idea, then let it go. Some things were too painful to visualize. "We need to examine the ship. There might be something useful aboard. Tali, any thoughts?"

 _"Eep!"_ Shepard blinked at the uncharacteristic gasp. _"Um, I mean, yes Commander. I can get some of Delta squad to start up, but I know some people back on the Flotilla that would be very interested in examining this."_

There was something more behind her words; he'd have to question her more closely after the mission. "Is it your recommendation then, that we turn this over to Quarian interests?"

He could hear the change in her voice, a more formal tone. _"Indeed, Captain. My people would be grateful for the opportunity to study the dropship. No one knows the geth better than we do. Of course, an Alliance representative would need to be along, and welcome."_

It didn't take much for him to make a decision. "Make it so. Ashley, you listening?"

 _"Better than Saturday morning cartoons sir."_ She sounded amused. _"I'm setting up the forms, but … ah ..the colonists started acting funny a couple minutes ago."_

His blood ran cold. "Define."

Without waiting, one hand motioned for Garrus to start moving. The Mako was less than a dozen feet away now that the energy barrier was down; that local scientist was already beating feet for the six-wheeled vehicle. _Not another one_

 _"They're all looking down at their feet … or maybe it's the ground by the freighter. Let me zoom in here … dangit, may whomever set the presets on this thing suffer a massive coronary … almost got it … there. Zooming in … yeah. They're looking at the ground under the freighter, that crashed one? In the center of the port?"_

"I know of it," Shepard spun his hand around, hurrying the squad. "What of it?"

 _"It's … weird. They all just stopped moving, everywhere. Like, one's on the roof of a prefab, staring at the ground. The lady that yelled at us? And Fai Dan? Them too. No wait … they're moving again."_ Her voice sharpened. _"Shepard, they're charging the Normandy. They're … attacking it? With their hands?"_

A second line opened, Joker's panicked voice coming through. _"Shepard? Commander! The colonists have gone crazy! They're attacking the ship!"_

Shepard closed his eyes, settling into the back seat of the Mako. This was bad. Mind-controlled batarian slave bad. "Hold your fire, they can't hurt the ship. Ashley, are the squads safe?"

The gunnery chief responded with gratifying swiftness. _"Light assault just took off; they have the rest of Charlie squad safe. Alpha's back in the Normandy, and Delta hasn't come on shift yet. Orders?"_

The order took only a moment of thought. "Hold your fire. The second we open up it'll be a massacre. I'm going to stop by that source of radio signals we heard earlier, see if they can shed any light on the situation."

* * *

By the time the Mako stopped, Shepard was very, very angry. So angry that he didn't bother chastising the undisciplined scientist for leaping out of the Mako and running pell mell for the holdout by the surviving ExoGeni researchers. Possibly colonists. Certainly a group of dead people, if they'd had anything to do with what he'd just read.

"Wrex, Garrus," he snapped _Excalibur_ into position on the right side of his back. "Stick together. Bad cop and bad cop. Tali, hack as much information as you can from as many people as you can. Liara, look menacing."

The asari drew herself up, surprised. "Menacing?"

He spared her a look. "Think krogan, with head tentacles."

Wrex chuffed a short laugh, but Shepard was already moving. He could hear conversation further down the ridge.

"Get away from her!" one voice was shouting. Lizbeth, by the sound of it.

Anger, Shepard identified the higher pitched voice, subconsciously categorizing the emotion. Danger reaction. Fight or flight, and she's done fleeing.

"What … get her out of here!" another voice shouted back. It sounded full of bluster, a voice that was used to being obeyed. Unexpected defiance flustered it … or perhaps confused by the situation?

"What the … come – come out of there! I know you're back there!"

Shepard took a breath, closing his eyes. Channeling anger to his inner self was an age-old mnemonic, but one highly useful. _Let it show. Confidence. Arrogance. Rage._ He stood, stalking down the ramp. Every step, casual but heavy; the walk of a supremely confident predator in the presence of nothing but prey. Coming to the bottom of the ramp, he deliberately stretched his shoulder, exposing the ancient weapon strapped to his left flank, as well as the N7 emblem fashioned in bold on his left pectoral.

Behind him, just visible from the corner of his eye, Wrex and Garrus sidled into view, weapons in hand. The pair made a formidable appearance; while Wrex loomed into sight with his hulking mass and threatening array of weapons, Garrus paced along with the rangy stride of a killer. His angular features, combined with the sniper rifle loosely held at an angle contrasted with Wrex's bulk. It would have been humorous, if not for the matching, mirthless grins both wore; something more suited to some extranet horror series.

Not waiting for the final two to enter, Shepard moved forwards again, focusing on the man that appeared to be in charge, seizing his attention. "Are you in charge of this place?"

The man recoiled, regaining his stance a heartbeat later. "District Manager Ethan Jeong. You must be Commander Shepard. I've heard about you … we don't need your kind of heroics around here."

Shepard raised his upper lip, showing his teeth in a cold smile. "Funny. I was thinking that's _exactly_ what you needed. Were you in charge of this colony?"

"Not in charge per se," the businessman responded evasively, "I look after ExoGeni's interests. I hope you didn't damage anything in the headquarters. We 'd hate to have to sue for damages."

Shepard snorted derisively. "After the geth, the Thorian, and whatever devilry you've been cooking up on this colony, I'd be surprised if there were a lawyer in the Orion Arm that would be willing to take your case. Now, why don't we introduce ourselves before we kill each other, like civilized folks."

"Mom!" Lizbeth made a beeline past Shepard, at a woman held by two armored men with weapons. "Let her go you bastards!"

Shepard waited until the guards had released the older woman, making sure to glare in their direction until they stepped away from the reunion. "Interesting policies you have, Ethan. Can I call you Ethan? Of course I can; I'm a majority shareholder. You know that."

"And I thank you on behalf of ExoGeni," Jeong's fists tightened, a peripheral motion in Shepard's sightline. "Now that the situation is being resolved, we will return to making sure your investment is appropriately used. You don't need to waste your time here, now that the geth are gone, I hope?"

"I'm not sure that would be a good idea Ethan," Shepard took a pace to one side, preventing one of the security men from flanking his position. Garrus had already taken a position near the entrance, commanding a view of the entire chamber, what looked to be a runoff location from the Prothean highway. Wrex on the other hand, was holding position to the turian's left, leaving Shepard to hold the right.

Perfect.

"You see Ethan, I took a look at your files. The Thorian in particular, bothers me. Your shipments to unlicensed recipients, for unauthorized experiments disturbs me, and the fashion you've looked after your charges disgusts me. To be frank, I am highly disappointed in your actions to date. What we have here is a situation that leaves you with," Shepard paused to savor the words. "Negligible options."

Jeong sneered, he could hear it in the man's voice. "Shepard, you're a majority shareholder, but not by any means the only investor. Yes you have influence, but other interests have a lot more say in our practices than you. People that have much more power than a backwoods colonist could hope to command."

Snapping his fingers once, Shepard jerked his thumb over his shoulder, letting the anger simmering below the surface show itself by the barest minimum possible. "You should meet my associates. Detective Vakarian, one of the deadliest shots in Council space, dedicated investigator, and entirely external to Alliance affairs. The big krogan next to him? Urdnot Wrex, one of the most renowned names in the Terminus Systems – and you know how hard it is to be famous there." His thumb turned, jabbing in the other direction. "Tali'Zorah there has connections with the quarian Admiralty, and probably every scrap of data from your omni-tool by now."

Tali waved, the tool on her wrist pulsating brightly. She also turned slightly, an action Ethan would hopefully misinterpret to be a narrowing of eyes in his direction. _Oops … forgot. I wasn't supposed to know about her connections, was I?_ Shepard pushed past the mistake; time for self-flagellation later.

"And of course I would be remiss to not mention Doctor Liara T'Soni, daughter of Matriarch T'Soni, whom as I recall is an investor of … primary importance. At least, according to the records you filed ten years ago. Do you have anything to add, Doctor?"

To his surprise the asari didn't say anything at first, but walked forwards, swinging her hips in a fashion he hadn't expected. "Ethan," she purred. "A … pleasure. Mother has been negligent in keeping me informed about our holdings. You wouldn't try to hold out on me, would you?"

Shepard watched in amusement as Ethan's Adam's apple jumped, right when Liara conjured a fistful of biotic fury in one hand, looking over its flickering state in a positively sultry fashion. "No, you wouldn't do that. So tell me;" the biotic field condensed, glistening in her hand like a crystal of pure death. "What has my dear mother been up to these past few months, hmmm?"

 _Keep up the pressure. Don't let him think._ Shepard pressed forward another step. "I'm giving you a chance, Ethan. I already have everything I could want from you. The question is what you can do for me, so that I don't end your company's contracts. Permanently."

Jeong hunched, holding onto his head with both hands. "You don't understand! Communication is back up, I have orders to purge the colony. Start over."

Naked fury surged. Shepard took one long stride, grabbing Jeong's neck in one hand and lifting. The petty bureaucrat weighed less than anticipated. "Say what? Repurpose … a … a … colony?" The anger drove his voice down into the guttural range. "Think, and think hard about your next words. If I do not like them, you had better pray to whatever deity you've chosen to follow that I do not lose my temper."

Jeong clutched at his throat, prying at Shepard's fingers. "Species 37 – unlike anything we've ever seen. Investors – wanted results. Just – following orders!"

Shepard squeezed tighter. "Nuremburg defense didn't help the Nazis, did it?" He looked the man in the eye, focusing as much as he could on the widening pupils. Sheer, unadulterated terror lay naked on the man's every motion; he could smell the man's fear like the ripening stench of a fetid carcass. While every fiber of his being urged to keep squeezing, tightening until the man's neck resembled a stylus, he couldn't see any profitable outcome. In the end, giving in to emotion wouldn't help. Growling, he let go, dropping the man like a sack of potatoes. "You aren't worth killing. Not when you can still carry a message for me. Tell your superiors that they had better cooperate with the investigators in every way, and find a way to recompense the colonists they've abused. Otherwise, I'll extradite everyone who knew about this to a Hegemony interrogation facility. As a start."

The fallen man gasped for air at his feet. Shepard looked down at him in disgust before walking away with a violent jerk. He had power, and could use it to almost any degree. That didn't mean he wasn't still repulsed by abuse of power, even if it felt hypocritical.

"Commander," Liara sauntered closer. Her actions still looked wrong, like a bloodthirsty seductress that wanted a killing, not the shy intellect he'd come to know. "The colonists could still be useful. But they're … infected … by those spores. Lizbeth here just had an idea."

The young scientist shuffled closer. "The thorian is a plant; a really, really weird one, but still a plant. I think its spores work like a regular plant's does too, so if it makes contact, people react like an allergy. If we use a mild neurotoxin, and mix it with an herbicide, it should go directly to the spores. It would knock out the people too … I think. They have to have a reduced immune system, if the plant wants to keep control through something alien to their bodies."

Shepard lifted a shoulder incautiously. "Better than shooting them." Or exposing them from the very start. _Better make a note about that, send the data to a few … disinterested parties._

"Good idea." His gaze swept over the squad. They really had done an excellent job. "Let's get busy people. Here be dragons, and we need a few knights."

* * *

 **A/N: Welcome to the mega chapter! 15k+ words, and my last chapter as a college undergrad. This has been a major source of stress relief, and I would like to thank each and every one of you for the time and reviews you've given me.**

 **Thanks also to Nightstride, whom took one look at this, and said: "You can do better than that." If you want to know why this chapter is 2 weeks late, and 7k words longer, blame him. Or give him credit ;)**

 **Suggested reading for today: Smoke Sorcery and Steel, by A Very Thirsty Megalomaniac. Excellent combo of Dishonored and Mass Effect.**

 **Cya down the lane!**


	19. Gods Below Us

_Shepard really had a great many secrets. But only one held much power over him. That secret was revealed on Feros; not all at once you understand, but in gradual stages. Most of his crew knew something made him fear closeness, but held too much respect to pry._

 _Yet, what builds bridges among friends more quickly than battle? No VeeOne; that was a rhetorical question. Yes I'm aware of the Turian Special Engineering group – mute. Mute!_

 _Ahem. As I was saying. There is no other method for making friends than shared danger. Having people willingly dive into the jaws of death at your side engenders value. Strangers caught in a bombardment can come out with closer connections than they do with their own flesh-and-blood. That is what happened to Shepard … and the realization he could let things go._

 _Dr. Arnold Pavenmeyer_

 _~Project_ _Ragnarök_ _Files_

* * *

Zhu's Hope, looked far different when seen from the opposite direction. It had been under fire when Shepard had entered from the shipyard the first time, via an aerial drop. From his position in the Mako, the walls looked taller, more foreboding. At the same time, the distant towers remained impossibly regal, watching the affairs of man rattle past. Roiling clouds of water, or perhaps dust from the never-seen ground far below, added to the majesty of the picture. Light from the system's mid-phase star reflected off the nebulous bodies, failing to reveal the hidden secrets of the dead civilization. It sometimes felt to Shepard as if Zhu's Hope had cleaner air than neighboring buildings. Perhaps … due to the Thorian? Or yet another hidden mystery of the Protheans?

The presence of a malformed gargoyle made of plants didn't help matters any. Its presence appeared new – nothing Shepard could remember when setting out.

"What … is … _that_?" Tali pointed.

Shepard took another look. "Some kind of hedge? Topiary, I think they call it."

He stopped the vehicle. The plant's basic shape was humanoid, but only superficially. Hands, curled around the legs locked in a fetal crouch lacked fingers; instead, four long claws extended from the palms, a grotesque imitation of a human's hands. Shepard tore his gaze away from the mocking hands to the face, only to see something worse; oiled, tear-like trails traced from hollow sockets where eyes should have been. The head was only made more eerie by the comically distorted cheekbones of a skull, smirking through a death's head grin.

 _"Can anyone hear me?"_ Ashley's strained voice cut through the atmosphere inside the Mako. _"Please tell me you can hear me – no, non-lethal! Non-lethal! You heard me!"_

Shepard slapped the tab. "Williams, I'm here. Sitrep!"

The relief was palpable in Ashley's voice. _"Shepard, thank God; most of the squads are back in the_ Normandy _. The colonists are … they went crazy. Punching and clawing at everything. Then these … these … creepy zombie things came out of nowhere. Can't really describe 'em except green and ugly as sin. They're crawling from the sides, through the vents, everywhere! One of 'em hit the relay tower, engineer just rigged a temp fix up here."_

"Where are you?" Shepard eyed the unmoving green statue of a man next to the street entrance. Its skull-like grin flaunted arrogance personified.

 _"Topside, in the mech. They got Hodgkins, he's hurt bad. Willens and Sigurd are holding them off at the Docking bay, the rest are up here with me."_

He took a moment to think. Keeping calm in a crisis saved lives. "Are the …" _zombie_ felt unprofessional. "Creepers human?" That wasn't any better.

 _"Negative, negative. We have colonists fighting alongside creepers."_ Ashley latched onto his term immediately. _"Don't know how or why,_ _but the creepers are … protecting them. It's gone all FUBAR, sir."_

That couldn't be good. But … if they weren't human … "Williams, lethal force on the creepers. Non-lethal on the humans. My squad has gas grenades that should be effective against both. When we breach, get Hodgkins out and help clear the rest of the floor." He paused, "We'll have to go underneath Zhu's Hope once we get the main floor cleared. There's a … plant … alien … thing … creature … under all of this."

 _"Yessir,"_ Ashley's tone radiated dark humor. _"Sounds like fun. Once we get most of those creepers out of the way, I wanna see this thing in person. Only polite thing to do after all the attention it's been showing a girl like me."_

Shepard glanced over at Garrus, who shrugged. Female humor was alien to aliens as well then. "Sounds good to me. You'll know when we get in."

Laughter came over the line. _"Follow the booms, gotcha. Good luck, Skipper."_

Closing the link, Shepard caught Garrus smirking at him. Fearing the answer, he raised an inquiring eyebrow.

Garrus's smirk grew wider. "I wonder, does the term _skipper_ mean anything in human literature? There are a quite a few euphemisms for _captain_ in turian of course, and it's a downright common deviance among quarians, but … it looks like you are quite the ladies' man Shepard."

Ignoring the turian seemed to be the best choice at the moment. It was harder to ignore the suddenly attentive body language currently displayed by both Tali and Liara. "Open the garage door. If it's green like our friend over there, kill it. If it's human, gas it. Mix of the two, gas it. Clear?"

He didn't wait for a response, escaping into the comparatively simple war zone. His blade slipped out, decapitating the man-like hedge before it started moving. _Vulnerable to melee weaponry. Good to know. Now all I need is some farming equipment. Mow 'em down without wasting a single round._

Groaning, the massive garage door began to rise, letting an unnatural rasping cry escape the widening opening. Shepard crouched at the sound, raising his blade in a simple guard while drawing a pistol. Through the widening gap, he could see more crouched green-hued forms, the more vibrant clothing of colonists mixed in the group.

Taking careful aim, Shepard fired the Brawler one-handed, wincing at the recoil. Recovering, he braced the barrel on his right forearm. Then, he stopped – sensing something off.

The squad pivoted around him, the near-artillery piece Wrex carried belching its storm of pellets into a creeper's chest, disintegrating it into mulch. Tali's quieter weapon punched straight through another creeper, damaging the rising bodies of yet more monsters behind. _Gunfire, all behind me. None in front … except for that colonist._

Winding up, Shepard overhanded the makeshift gas grenade into the vicinity of the shooter. She and her partner – the second man partially hidden by the mass of green bodies – collapsed at the merest wisp of faintly yellow gas. _Highly effective. Too effective maybe? Either them or us; not going to be us. But still … didn't see the second one until after the bodies hit the floor. Long rifles will go through a dozen bodies._

"Hold your fire," Shepard raised one fist in a universal signal. While taking small steps backwards, he kept his eyes on the oncoming creepers. "Any of you know how to fight hand-to-hand?" He risked a look, away from the meandering plant-like corpses. Three limbs were in the air: Wrex, Garrus and … Liara? "Doctor T'Soni, are you certain?"

An irritated snort responded. "Why is it everyone doubts an asari? Yes, I can."

He shrugged. "Alright. Garrus, Tali; watch our backs. Wrex, Liara, with me. We can't risk shooting the colonists, so we'll do an ol' fashioned bull rush. Humans get a grenade, everything else is dead."

A murderous chuckle emanated somewhere from deep under the ground, or so Shepard thought. Then he noticed the number of teeth Wrex was showing, and the eight-inch blade that had somehow appeared. It slid below the shotgun's barrel, clicking into place, emanating a deadly clicking sound. "I'm beginning to like you human. You got style."

A ball of synthetic fire appeared, curving around Shepard's shoulder to slap against a creeper. Its form disintegrated under the force, leaving just the limbs intact. Within seconds, those too vanished, leaving a green stain on the ground.

"Liara?" Shepard asked. She just gave him an innocent smile that looked remarkably rehearsed. He shook his head. "Garrus, go long and crowd control. Tali, keep communications open and watch his back. Anyone needs help, call. Move out."

Wrex moved fast, three-quarters of a ton lashing forwards, quick as a snake. The creeper receiving his attentions divided nearly in two from the shoulder across the torso. "One for me," he rumbled. The weapon's action ratcheted, booming a death knell for another monstrosity. "Two. Better catch up pyjacks."

Frozen in surprise, Shepard barely had the presence of mind to flick his _ulfberht_ in a salute. _Well, you wanted a show._ The blade turned sideways, a mocking acknowledgement to the creepers. _Here we go._

As if in response to the invitation, the entire mass lurched forwards. _A clue._

 _Central control._ Shepard lopped his blade through an arm, cutting it with surprising ease. _One command center, many bodies. No time lag._ A creeper stopped in front of him, throwing its head back as if to scream. On instinct, Shepard dodged as a foul-smelling liquid spewed from the creeper. The ground hissed, a small amount of steam rising from the puddle. To his widening eyes, the puddle shrank, becoming deeper until the liquid expended itself against. _Acid. Very strong, higher than sulfuric. Weak musculature, acid throwers. Fun._

Cyan energy orbited past him, almost lazily tapping the one of the creepers. It floated upwards, hovering just a few inches off the ground, covered in a blue-tinted field. Shepard cast a glance back, to meet Liara's … unreadable face. The invitation was unmistakable however. Turning back, he undid the catches inside his gloves, releasing the connections deep inside his _Nightstalker_ armor.

A pure white field emanated from his gauntlet, silent but blindingly bright. When it touched the floating creeper, the mis-matched biotic fields combined in a display of pyrotechnics unachievable by standard means.

His lips curled back. _I've missed this._

Movement above caught his attention. Confident in Wrex's skill, he took his eyes from the battle. A colonist, trembling either from emotion or exhaustion, crawled over a cross-strut. Without breaking stride Shepard resumed his assault. "Garrus, one o'clock high. Gas him."

The shifting bodies cycled, becoming a pattern in his eyes. That was a talent of his, spotting the patterns. Chaos and order, woven amongst themselves, merging one within the other. A quick stroke upwards cleaved gravitic-forged steel through organic flesh, accompanied by a side-step to give Liara enough room follow through. Cyan energy arced behind his back, shredding into yet another creeper. Decaying plant matter smacked wetly, clearing a gap.

 _Good_. Shepard leveled his pistol, firing downrange. Textbook rules stipulated verbal cues, guidelines for everyone. Reality held a different set of rules. _Keep trusting them. They have your back._ His Brawler sparked death at the creepers, following their movements unerringly. _Make every shot count. Incoming left, tracking left,_ Shepard downed two more. Headshots, off moving targets.

Wrex speared the front of his shotgun through the torso of a creeper, lifting it upwards like a pitchfork. A ripple of purple fire emanated from the fist clutching the weapon's grip beneath the barrel, launching the body into the ceiling. "Come on," he bellowed. "Try to make it a challenge!"

The din of an oncoming group shook the pavement. Both Wrex and Shepard spun towards the sound, raising their firearms. Before they could open up, the roar of a different kind of thunder rushed. Before them, the ground erupted in streams of iridescent biotic fire, explosions rippling along the ground in bursts that strangely left the floor intact. The series of blasts continued onwards undeterred, detonating in the midst of the creepers. Each blast tore through the leaf-green legs, ripping them to shreds before flinging the rest of the body aside. Bits of vegetation smeared across the front of Shepard's faceplate, obstructing his vision until wiped it off.

As one, the two warriors looked back. Liara, arm already retracting, gave them an almost mocking gesture. "You were taking too long."

Suppressing a grin, Shepard led the charge for the airlock. _That's where the resistance will start. Not this weak pushback._

* * *

Fighting through the levels of ancient prothean architecture felt … comfortable. Familiar. It was almost as if he knew exactly where each turn would be, like the complex N7 trainers used to on neophytes. Gleaming new walls and doorways bordering long stretches of rubble-filled piles gave a more jarring sensation than even he would expect, places that felt as out-of-place as the gap of a missing tooth.

Garrus held point this time, the final approach to the main hangar bay. Talons flipped upwards, lowering sequentially. As the last digit collapsed, Shepard rushed past, blade prepared. As a consequence, the two creepers standing next to the entrance didn't even make a sound. Or wouldn't have, if the weapon in his hands hadn't squelched through the sodden material composing their necks.

Shepard examined the blade, wincing at the acid marks. _Have to clean it off, then see if I can buff them out._ The markings drew his attention to the hilt portion, the length of blade just above the guard. _Maybe use more of the blade. You paid for the whole thing, not just the last six inches; use it._

The nauseating groans of more creepers reached his ears. "How come we can't fight regular people?" he muttered. "Why does it always have to be a hive mind?"

Wrex stepped past, lumbering onward. "One-on-one is just for fun. Easy. We're hunting bigger game."

A horde of the creepers made their appearance. Shepard stood back, letting Wrex and Garrus tear their ranks apart. Between the turian's precision and Wrex's indiscriminate pellet-swarms, less than three creepers reached his position. Just as he readied himself for a quick slashing strike, a miniscule, glowing sphere lifted the remaining three off their feet, staggering even Wrex with its gravitic force.

 _Singularity_ … Shepard turned eyes to Liara. Few knew the intricacies of biotic combat better than he; and the total number of individuals capable of that remarkable technique ranged in the low hundreds. Only a dozen humans were capable of pulling off the _lesser_ variation, none below a Tier VI on the intergalactic scale. Even among asari, the Singularity was reserved solely for the more powerful, and generally not learned until their fourth century. _A little over her first century, and already mastered?_

His eyes quickly shifted back to the miniature black hole. The lesser versions simply affected their immediate surroundings, neutralizing local gravity fields with their intensity. This one however … Shepard spent a moment simply watching a creeper flail at empty air before drifting into the pinprick-sized dot of pure black in the disturbance's center and … vanishing. A second creeper followed it into oblivion before the field collapsed. Instinctively, he ducked letting the feedback blast overhead. Admiration turned to irritation.

"Watch your fire!" Ignoring the shouted apology, Shepard pushed forward. Tali's shotgun roared from somewhere to his left – from high ground – giving him an opening.

"Ash, give me a barrage." Shepard highlighted a spot twenty meters ahead. "Miss the terminal if you can."

The whirring of automated machinery overhead met his ears. _"Gotcha Skipper."_ The voice paused, before getting rebroadcast over the colony's public-address system. _"Hey creeps! A little something – from me to you!"_

Ducking again, Shepard rode out the shockwave of an artillery power-armor fusillade. The whine of light-assault jets soon followed. By poking his head from cover, Shepard could see contrails of the soldiers landing, assault rifles shooting death at professional grade rates. The sight brought a warm feeling to his chest, each form drifting through the sky. Fluid movements combined inherent mobility with the deadly grace constant training imbued, a beautiful sight for those so inclined.

Within seconds, the last of the creepers had fallen, the seemingly endless swarm beaten into submission. At least for now. _Lord only knows when they'll be back, eh?_

"Good work," Shepard tapped his earpiece, leaning back so he could see the stationary power armor above. "Williams, perfect timing. Everyone clear?"

 _"We're missing Fai Dan,"_ the armored helmet swiveled around in a slow scan. _"I have a headcount for the colonists. No news on Hodgkins. Got a couple heavy marines up here with cover fire if you need it."_

"I copy," Shepard frowned at the mess of rapidly decomposing plant-soldiers. "See if you can get the colonists anywhere else. The _Normandy_ doesn't have the room, and I don't trust Jeong. Just get them clear for now. Lock 'em in a warehouse or something and keep them down for now."

 _"Aye-aye, Skipper."_

He did another quick look over the ground, searching for clues. "Tali, can you unlock the Borealis control? Credits to Crullers, they tried for an encrypt."

The quarian moved past, omni-tool already starting its glow. He watched her for a moment before resuming his search. _If I were Fai Dan, where would I hide?_

"It gets in your head … doesn't let you think …." A voice creaked. "You try to fight it, but the pain … _the pain_ …"

Shepard's head snapped around. The voice was familiar. "Fai Dan?"

The bent shape of the old man appeared. His movements were slow, shuffling, each step in tiny motions. Agony hunched the old man's shoulders, fingers twitching. Shepard knew that kind of reaction; had inflicted that kind of pain. _Slavers, rapists … none deserved mercy. But this man …_ "Why?"

Fai Dan jerked sideways, arm flailing before coming under control. It slipped into a pocket, out of sight. "It wants me to kill you. But I won't …."

Shepard stepped back at the rage burning in the other man's voice, and the gun suddenly appearing in his hand. None of the others had a good angle, even if they'd been in position to see what was going on. Garrus didn't have his rifle up, Tali's position at the terminal had her back partially turned, Liara didn't have the experience or training – and was too far away – and Wrex was too far. If he were careful, a quickdraw could take out something important; the gun itself, or a shoulder or hand. Pain wouldn't stop a man that already had every nerve on fire, but an impact could throw off aim.

Then, everything went wrong.

 _ **"I won't!"**_ Fai Dan twisted the pistol, not at Shepard, but at his own head.

Desperately Shepard's pistol flashed out of its holster, trigger squeezing before the weapon fully expanded. Two gunshots split the air … and all Shepard could do was watch a body collapse.

 _I missed._

Around him movement ground to a halt. A marine crouch-walked forwards while a second covered him at an angle. The man poked Fai Dan's eyeball with the muzzle of his gun, tensing for a moment. His shoulders relaxed. "He's dead. Good shot Commander, right between the eyes."

Shepard nodded, expressionless _. I missed. One inch to the right … and a man is dead because of it. His eyes flickered to the floor. No, because of some plant that's playing god with his pets._

He stared at the fallen man, at the mess two rounds in close proximity had made. Failure … "I was aiming for the gun."

The marine jerked. "Wha …? I mean … sorry, sir."

Space opened around Shepard – uncertainty in the air. Was … was it from him? He closed his eyes, centering himself once more. _Not the first time you failed, it won't be the last. Pull it together, the squad needs you. Mourn later._

"Tali," the chill in his voice surprised even himself. "How's that terminal coming?"

"Almost have it," he caught her helmet peeking at him, whipping back to face the terminal. "And … done."

Shepard felt anger growing again. _Too much, it's too much. Geth, Saren, the damned batarians. When will it stop?_ The comfortingly rough patches in his gloves, catches eager to unleash fury at his command itched to be used. _The batarians will pay. All of them. Saren will die, as painfully as I can manage. As for the geth … they're a quarian problem. Focus: here and now._

"Commander? You alright?" A concerned voice. Who? It didn't matter.

He lifted one shoulder. "I'm good. Williams, get everyone in the _Normandy_ except for a skeleton scout crew. Stay in contact at all times. Understood?"

 _"Yessir. Move it maggots! Get your butts in gear!"_

The _Borealis_ slowly rose under the force of the industrial crane, its mass shifting from side to side in obedience to physics. Shepard could see a clean place where it had once rested, centered on a squared off opening, steps leading into depths.

"Wrex, on point with me. Tali and Garrus, rear guard. Liara, in the middle. Move out." Shepard dropped from the position he'd maintained, just before Fai Dan had attempted suicide. _At least there was a chance he'd been saved from that kind of fate. Only a chance, but a good death at least; fast and an end to pain._

The steps didn't move when Wrex landed a hair behind him and to one side. The krogan stamped once or twice, grunting approval. "Protheans knew how ta build. Pity they're all dead."

"Pity." Shepard clicked his omni-tool's tactical light. The depths yawned under his feet, jealously hiding its secrets. "I'm going to send a few more to join them. Soon."

* * *

The stairs descended for what was beginning to feel like eternity. The distance tracker in Shepard's HUD claimed they'd descended roughly half a mile, nearly four thousand steps. Through it all, Shepard kept up the pace, watching over the others and keeping a hand on his weapons. For once, there were no insane colonists or death-crazed machines trying to kill them – on the other hand, the stairway felt overcrowded, and at least a thousand steps longer than absolutely necessary.

Every step had to be taken in partial darkness, ancient lighting older than Earth's oldest civilization still operating in minimal capacity. Tiny points of light at distant intervals glowed at the edges of steps, only to fade by the time he reached them; artifacts from unknown designs. It created a haunting effect, like they traversed an endless path, a Mobius staircase without end.

Making matters worse, roots lined the walls, visible in the illumination from their weapons and sporadic wall emplacements. Half-formed creeper bodies sprouted from the roots with no attention to logic or order. Destroying them proved cathartic – a fact enthusiastically supported by the few marines accompanying the squad – but only raised the question of how many more lurked below.

Between exercise and the threat presented by artificial people, exercise was better.

 _"Hey, uh, Commander, I got a priority message for you. You'll probably want to hear it before you're out of range …."_

Shepard paused, holding up one hand to stop the others. "Go ahead Joker."

A different voice filtered through the network. Human, hoarse to the extreme, yet filled with raw emotion – familiar. _"Shepard. I'm not sure if this will reach you in time. I managed to track down my squad since we last spoke. They died in a Thresher Maw nest, to the last man. I've been_ _trying_ _to find out why … but gotten almost nowhere."_

A frown grew on Shepard's face. _Wasting time._

 _"We met on the Citadel, you were escaping reporters, and I was attempting to get someone with some spine to get me answers. Well, I know you managed to get what you want – well done on that. I managed to get a name: Cerberus."_

He grew still. Admiral Kahoku had been on the Citadel, searching for something related to Intelligence. The other name, a three-headed dog, guarding Hades, had made its appearance in the remains of the tower. What happened?

 _"It's a terrorist group now, but once it was a Black Ops organization. Decades ago it was given charge of alien investigations, but the founder died. Since then, it's gone wrong; very wrong. Everything I've been able to find is under Triple-R protocol. I've had to resort to threats to get anything done."_

Triple-R … Redact, Retract, and Revise Shepard knew. Intelligence was very fond of the practice.

 _"The trail's leading me to Feros. I found another hit at Noveria, but my authority there is severely limited. At least at Feros I have rank and a station of Alliance soldiers to back me up. Although the way things are going, I wouldn't count on their support. Cerberus has gone completely rogue, Shepard. Biological warfare experiments, kidnapping civilians, killing entire squads … I have to stop them. But I don't know if I will. Meet me on Feros, I'll be in the port station. Please, hurry."_

The message ended, leaving Shepard with a rush of adrenaline. Pieces were beginning to fall together now, almost faster than he could watch. "Joker, what's the timestamp on this? Why didn't I receive it earlier?"

 _"Um, it's listed as being set up … a week ago. Just before the comm blackout happened."_

"Blackout? What blackout?" He didn't mean to be sharp, it simply came out that way.

 _"Ummm … one sec." The pilot dropped from the frequency for a moment. "The station told me the entire system was under a communication blackout just before the geth got here. An order from higher up; when the geth arrived, they blockaded the Relay, nothing came in or out. Now that the geth are gone, Admiral Hackett ordered all signal traffic resumed."_

Shepard waved his hand forwards, directing the team's progress once more. "Forward this to Hackett, with my compliments. I want to know who ordered that blackout, and why."

Cutting off the switch, he rejoined his team. Liara acknowledge him, and turned back to Ashley's solid presence. Her steps visibly lightened as the sight of an end to the stairs came into view. "By the Goddess, light at last!"

Murmurs of appreciation echoed her statement, backs straightening. She hurried ahead of Shepard, checking the corners the way he remembered the Commandos preferring. "So all we have to do now is locate this plant and we … and we … we –"

Movement ground to a halt. Shepard pushed himself forward through the stalled advance, reaching daylight. He came to Liara's flank and found himself looking up. Then craning his head to see higher still.

"That," Shepard paused, at loss for words. A massive stalk, wide as a redwood, taller than the legendary trees on Eden Prime stretched before him. Superficially, it resembled a drupe, dangling over the tower's vast interior. Thick vines coiled along the walls, digging into the super-dense material; incredible strength evident in each bit of vegetation. "Is a plant? We might need bigger guns."

Wrex chuckled. "Always need bigger guns, never a bad thing."

The plant's form twitched, attracting their focus. A massive portion, suspended in the middle of the tower's gutted infrastructure, rotated in their direction. Its ponderous motion almost froze Shepard in place, until he remembered himself. "Ash, Wrex spread out. Tali, Garrus, take cover. Eyes open people."

Jumping, the squad moved to obey. In the staircase behind him, the sound of readying weapons made a welcome clatter. Half of Alpha squad had volunteered for this; their added firepower looked to be needed.

Groaning on a level that made the stone under Shepard's feet shake, the plant finished its movement … and stopped. Shepard estimated its size at over a third of the Normandy, taking almost the entire width of the building. The circumference of the Thorian somehow felt larger, edged by narrow walkways eroded by the passage of time and enough roots to populate a forest. Its pseudo-face seemed to look at him, watching with the patience one would expect from a plant. It didn't seem to precisely acknowledge him, just that motion had been sensed.

Shepard kept his weapons sheathed, waiting. Watching.

 _"Shepard …?"_ Ashley's _Menelaus_ power armor whined into higher gear.

He nodded once. Immediately the armor shuddered into lockdown mode, one leg lowered to brace the upper half. Underslung rotary carbines hummed into position, twirling idly under her forearms.

Satisfied, Shepard took a long step to the side, and approached. The plant didn't follow his movements, either unaware, or keeping its concentration on the larger threat. The hair-like fringe below its pseudo jaw extrusion started working, dropping a foul-smelling liquid on the pavement's edge.

"Commander," Tali's voice came through the cavern, echoing in the emptiness. "There are a lot more creepers in here. But they're … dormant."

He raised an acknowledging hand, and gave Garrus a meaningful look. The turian flashed needle-sharp teeth in response. Casually, his omni-tool started fabricating proximity mines. Or at least, it was with small, unobvious movements. Making weapons never felt casual to Shepard.

The plant's face seemed to convulse for a moment, making sounds like a whale choking. A pair of feet suddenly appeared, lowering from the plant's orifice. A pair of long legs followed, quickly resolving into an extraordinarily fit asari … that also happened to be a deep, unmistakable green. Its dark pupils scanned the group from a crouching position, before she casually reached out to one side, catching an assault rifle as it also dropped from the plant.

 _Did that thing just … make … a weapon, or did it steal it from the geth?_ Shepard wondered. He revised his opinion of the plants capabilities. _A person? A mobile, thinking, feeling person, or just an organic automaton? What else can it do?_

The verdant-colored asari rose in an easy, fluid motion, rifle sliding back with the grace native to what seemed to be her species.

"Invaders." Her voice dripped regal arrogance. "Your every step is a transgression. A thousand feelers appraise you only as meat, good only to dig and decompose. I speak for the Old Growth as I did for Saren. You are within and before the Thorian. It commands that you be in awe."

Shepard remained silent as the last mote of empathy he had for the ancient being vanished. He narrowed his eyes. Plants weren't the only thing with patience, even if this one seemed to have a flair for Shakespearean theatre.

A hesitant voice whispered into his earpiece. "Shepard, Liara here. That is Shiala Ner'Sen, one of my mother's Acolytes. What … happened to her?"

He stretched his neck in Garrus's direction, continuing to ignore the green asari while disguising the motion. A few quiet discs orbited past a pillar, landing with the quietest of taps. _A good question. Can't be an actual asari, unless she's been severely modified. Didn't think the asari went for that kind of genetic modification._

"Why have you come? You silenced the meat serving the Thorian. This cannot be allowed."

Shepard stared over the asari's shoulder, pretending he looked at her temple. At the same time, he palmed a short but extremely sharp knife from its pouch, all while faking an intense interest. The inflexible material of the plant's external wall stared back at him, unmoved. "Saren came to this world, looking for something. I hunt him. What did he want?"

The asari withdrew sideways, a decidedly organic twitch, yet not composed by any bipedal lifeform. "Saren sought knowledge of those who came before. Trades were made. Then the Cold Ones came, killing the flesh that would tend the next Cycle. Flesh fairly given!"

His head snapped up, fingers flexing around the hidden weapon. "The flesh was not Saren's to give. He holds no authority over this colony."

She straightened, sneering at him. The asari figure had an advantage for that; turians conveyed disgust through vocal tones, while salarians either over-emoted or were as expressionless as a stone. The emotive power of an asari, backed by the conceit of a lifeform old enough to call a dozen matriarchs _children_ however …. "Those who came before boasted the same. You will fall as they did, scurrying to –"

Shepard glared at the plant's pulsating extrusion, ignoring the asari standing in front of its bulk. "Have a care whom you threaten, Old Growth. Your servants will never return, and your presence is known to the rest of my people. Bargain with me, or prepare to know the pain of a thousand feelers burn every time you deny me."

The Thorians internal mass began to roll, emanating a cacophony of furious gurglings and deafening pops. Shepard could feel the ancient plant's rage pressing down on him, stifling like the humid gusts before the storm. The asari lowered her head, arms spreading in a threatening gesture, like a spider's legs.

"Ash," Shepard pointed at the bulbous plant's lower growths. "Focus fire about two feet above the bottom, as big a hole as you can. Then use it for grenade practice. On my signal."

A vicious growl answered him, out of proportion for the smaller woman. _"Yessir. Just say when."_

"The rest," Shepard gave his squad an appraising look, "fire on targets of opportunity. Alpha squad, support Ashley."

Accepting their rumbled affirmative, Shepard looked back as the fake-asari tensed, her fists clenched tight. "The Old Growth sees the air you push as lies."

Shepard glided forwards, uncrossing his arms to show the blade he'd palmed extending from his hand. It sliced through the false asari's right forearm. "Hear me, Old Growth, and harken well. I am Shepard, of the System's Alliance. Your servants fell before my blade like the wheat of harvest. Hear me, or I shall destroy you as I did your servants."

The pseudo-asari didn't flinch. Its truncated limb didn't bleed, or show any sign of discomfort – except for a faint pulse of emerald-green light. It lunged silently, extending its remaining arm in a classic approach – evidently, the plant had acquired its knowledge from an actual asari, down to the combat maneuvers.

Shepard sidestepped the move, letting her biotically enhanced strike shatter the air beside him. "Now."

Twin rotary carbines, already warmed up, shredded through the green asari. Green pulp sprayed Shepard's torso before the fusillade began chewing into the Thorian's lower anatomy. It resisted, strong enough to resist the ravages of time, but the highly focused fire chipped away at the surface, digging deeper into the protective layer with every round.

 _"Shepard, the creepers are moving!"_ Tali's voice cut in his headset, over the sound of Ashley's roaring weapons.

Calmly, Shepard exchanged his razor-cutter for the Brawler. The rest of Alpha squad was already pouring fire into the side passages, quelling the horde of zombie-like monsters. He directed their fire at weak points, making only the infrequent attempt himself. Ashley's _Menelaus_ suit, on the other hand, managed to puncture the outer portion of the plant-thing's layers, and began launching grenades into the gap.

 _"Set for ten, got a full magazine for the reload twice over,"_ she announced. _"Take that you son-of-a –"_

The rest of her sentence was drowned out by a muffled explosion. The opening expanded, dripping a viscous fluid. It was … smaller than anticipated … more of a longer crack than what one would expect from a grenade salvo.

"Squad!" Shepard made a gesture. "Heavies, focus rocket on that thing. One volley, Williams get clear."

 _"Aye sir,"_ the heavily armored woman ratcheted out of place, jerkily shifting to Shepard's side. _"Personnel grenades. Should have brought anti-tank."_

He shrugged, watching the three heavy marines line up their shots. There weren't really that many creepers present to count as a real threat; those that charged forwards were hitting the proximity grenades, detonating in showers of pulp. "It worked well enough against creepers and geth."

 _"Bounced off the bigger geth,"_ she countered. One of her arms extended, launching a grenade into a group of creepers running across the open sides of the building's innards, like the parkour vids constantly being pumped out from the Inner Colonies. _"We didn't even need them with you and Wrex slapping those things around. With Liara working as heavy artillery, you almost didn't need any backup period."_

"One moment." Shepard's pistol snapped up, picking off a creeper charging a preoccupied marine. Spinning in place he bracketed another creeper with the weapon's iron sights, disintegrating its head in a single shot. A breath later, he jerked in the other direction double tapping the first creeper to show its malformed chest.

"Downside of heavy armor," he muttered. Another pair of creepers dropped from the ceiling, forcing him to break off again. One received a bullet in its leg, slowing it. Balling up his fist, Shepard punched the second creeper in the throat, stunning it long enough to execute the first creeper, and follow up on the second. After checking again, he tapped the cooldown. "A bit lacking in mobility."

The small portion of transparent material on Ashley's helmet allowed him to see her purse her lips in a silent whistle. _"Damn sir, you sure you're not some kind of T-800?"_

He spared her a raised eyebrow. The unexpected horde looked to be the last attempt for the creepers' attack. "A what now?"

The armor's static build somehow managed to convey an amused shoulder roll. _"T-800, you know, Terminator series. They released the latest movie what, two months ago? They had Josef Schwartzkpofen playing the role. Not sure the movie was so great, but he really pulled off a good Terminator."_

"I …" Shepard couldn't process it for a moment. "I haven't really been much of a movie person."

The armored shell nodded, then froze. _"Cover!"_

A trio of armor-piercing rockets launched past, plunging into the weakened superstructure of the Thorian. A heartbeat later, the entire body swelled, deforming unlike anything he'd seen before, exploding in a shower of thick liquid. Ashley lunged forwards, intercepting the majority of material. A large chunk struck her front, rocking the entire frame into Shepard's own armor.

"On the other hand," Shepard looked up from his newly strengthened appreciation of the ground, "There are some very definite benefits to the larger armor sets."

Electronically modified laughter emitted from the woman's speaker. _"Everybody says that."_

Another chunk of woody material crashed into the ground next to them. The impact didn't scratch the Prothean made surface, but the kinetic energy knocked Shepard sprawling once more. He laughed aloud, chuckling until the obvious tilt of Ashley's helmet made it clear he'd spent enough time enjoying the moment. Shepard rolled to his feet, shaking away the helpful hand offered.

 _"Wanna let us in on the joke?"_

Shepard glanced around, noting the curious body posture of everyone around him. Alpha squad was still examining the branching paths, but the specialists were behaving as if he'd lost all sanity.

They could have been right. Nonetheless, they awaited an explanation.

"Fifteen years of slavers and everything the galaxy can throw at me," He nodded at the piece of wood lying next to him. "Proton storms, pirate attacks, mercs and whatever the heck goes bump in the night. All that … and the latest thing to almost kill me is a plant. One with delusions of grandeur maybe," he gave the remains of the Thorian a salarian gang-slang motion, suggesting its ancestry took pleasure in illicit activities, "but a plant all the same."

Wrex roared out a chuckle and slapped Shepard's back. "Big things to kill, good guns at your side. A good squad, Shepard. Proud to be part of it."

 _"Commander, Sigurd here. We have ahhh … situation."_

Shepard stilled. "Go ahead Lieutenant."

 _"Two things, sir. There's some bodies here, pretty fresh. Definitely human, less than a week old."_

Shepard frowned, the last of his good cheer vanishing. "And the second?"

 _"Um … there's an asari here. She's blue, but looks like one of those green thorian things you were kicking around … um, she's also claiming to be one of Matriarch Benezia's people. Want me to take care of her for you?"_

The tone in his voice left no question about the permanence of the big man's solution. Shepard sighed. "No, I'm on my way. Stand by."

 _"Aye sir. If she moves, we'll give her the 'ol heave ho. Mighty tricky things, towers. Never know when someone might trip or something."_

Shepard tapped off his pickup and groaned. "Remind me to never ask Sigurd to go undercover. He's as subtle as a … a …."

"A boot in the face?" Ashley helpfully supplied.

"Yeah. That."

* * *

The asari looked indeed like the others that had addressed Shepard at the Thorian's demand. Unlike them however, she wore a darker jumpsuit, one that didn't cling as tightly as the fake versions had. She also looked weary, arms sagging; he had no doubt her skills were sufficient to disable half the squad should she so choose … but then she would die. Fully rested was another thing entirely.

"Shiala? Shiala Ner'Sen? Is that really you?" Liara pushed ahead, ignoring how the human marines trained their weapons on the both of them.

Shepard signaled for them to relax, carefully observing the two asari. Liara's attitude looked worried, not the paranoid threat of discovery – he knew that well enough – but the concern one showed a friend. The other asari seemed relieved more than anything else; open palms, relaxed shoulders. It was simple enough for those with eyes.

"Liara T'Soni, are you a sight for sore eyes." The other asari hesitated, head twitching towards Shepard. "That is the correct aphorism, am I right?"

He shrugged. "Works in this situation. Probably."

Liara ignored him, flinging her arms around Shiala's shoulders. "When I heard Benezia had left, I knew you were with her. How did you escape?"

Shepard watched the two interact. While emotionally satisfying to see two old friends reunite, the more pertinent reason lay in Liara's familiarity. Unlike Garrus or Ashley, Liara could determine the authenticity of this … strange … asari with expertise the others could not match. She was also the least-accurate gunner, and the most powerful biotic – including his armor's capabilities. If this 'Shiala' proved hostile, a quick Throw would see her safely away, and the rest could be decided with a hail of gunfire.

The same chain of thought likely ran through Garrus's mind, he could see it in the turian's eyes. Tali would likely understand the reasoning, but long after the fact. Shepard focused on Wrex, whom was already in an easy cross-fire position, shotgun casually pointed at the ground, but the stock angled in such a way that only one movement would be needed to bring it to bear.

 _Krogan experience. Live long enough, and you'll see everything_. Shepard felt envious for a moment, but pushed the emotion away. _They pay for it. Every day._

"Commander, Shiala has it! She has what you need!" Liara bounced to her feet, pausing in a crouch to support Shiala. "She can help with the Prothean Beacon!"

The other asari still appeared weary, but interested. _Very_ interested. "You withstood the Beacon, with no side-affects? Astonishing, you must have a magnificent mind."

Slightly uncomfortable, Shepard took a step forward, lowering himself far enough to avoid being hit by friendly fire. "Do you have what Saren wanted?"

She nodded, likely aping a mannerism she'd seen humans perform. "I have the Cipher. Saren needed it to translate the Eden Prime Beacon; it was damaged. Incomplete. The Thorian has – had it, and now it is in my mind. Do you wish for me to give it to you?"

Shepard backed up in lightning fast steps. "Wait, you mean giving it? As in, planting it in my head?"

The asari tilted her head to one side. "Of course, how else would you be able to comprehend the knowledge? Protheans viewed the world far differently than we do; it is like describing the color of invisible light, or a sound no one can hear. A pity the Thorian had to die … its thoughts were … incredible."

 _"That tasted purple,"_ Ashley muttered under her breath. Shepard gave her an arched look.

"It might be better to wait," he suggested politely, "My head is a little … dangerous … right now. Perhaps –"

"I'll do it," a young voice interrupted. Shepard blinked to see Liara standing much closer – he hadn't seen her move. She looked … excited. More so than when the _Normandy_ had discovered an ancient asari satellite, stuffed to the brim with ancient, classical literature. Or even when he'd demonstrated a limited capacity for unlocking Prothean energy barriers.

Shepard held out an open palm, stopping her advance. "Liara, are you sure? We don't know –" he stopped to give Shiala an apologetic look – "we don't know exactly what this data is …."

Bright blue eyes sought to meet his, before he looked away. "I am certain, Shepard. You do not have reason to trust Shiala. I am capable of defending myself inside the Meld, better than any human. When I link with her, I can examine her honesty, and perhaps … keep a copy of the data?"

He closed his eyes, weighing the options. The Fury agent back on the _Normandy_ , the one that had so nearly achieved what Hegemony slavers had been trying to do for over a decade loomed in his mind. _Worst case, Liara dies, no data. Best case, data gets replicated, good if something happens to me._

A different thought entered. _Specialist's squad. Talk to Tali about Geth, take Garrus on crime scenes. This is Liara's field … only an idiot would pretend to be an expert._

Slowly, he forced his eyes up to meet hers. He nodded, once. "If Shiala kills you, I swear …."

Gravel, shaken from the walls in the battle, scraped under Shiala's boots. "Very well, if that's what you believe. I promise this is the only way for you to comprehend the Beacons. Not even a Matriarch would be able to decipher what the Protheans thought. Agreed?"

 _You'd be surprised._ Shepard considered what he'd deduced so far; machines of death, terrified people running from them in absolute chaos. _Very similar to geth, and the husks. Success or failure isn't likely to depend on this, not really. But I have to try everything. Just make sure the Will and Testament is ready. Right?_

Shiala must have read his expression. "Very well, Liara T'Soni, are you prepared for this gift?"

Liara turned her full attention to her friend. "More than I'd ever thought possible."

Shepard tuned out the ritual chant, watching their body posture instead. While neither touched physically, his visor managed to catch a trace amount of energy wisp through the air, connecting the two asari. Unlike the normal biotic energy signatures, this one climbed so high on the frequency chart to be invisible to the naked eye.

"Garrus, Ashley, can you see that?" he nodded at the phenomenon.

 _"Trying not to … sir."_ Ashley sounded physically ill.

Garrus on the other hand, made a little gesture with his primary finger. "Adjusting … it's a lot stronger than I'd thought."

That brought Ashley up again. _"Oh … the twisty things? Looks kinda like what had you Shepard, back on Eden Prime."_

He agreed, silently. Prothean technology appeared to have mastered the asari mind-linking capabilities on an entirely artificial level. It brought back … painful memories. Like that teddy bear, sitting in his locker.

Nearly fifteen minutes later, the two asari broke apart. Liara fell back, supported by Tali's quick action, while Shiala seemed relatively unharmed.

"Doctor? Liara?" Shepard knelt by the prone asari, gloved hand resting its sensor-input on her armor's override. Her vitals appeared normal, although the blood pressure seemed a bit high for an asari.

"She will be fine. The memories of an entire people are …" Shiala lowered into a crouch, one hand resting on the wall. Her breathing did appear somewhat strained, now that he paid closer attention. "Difficult to process. The essence of an entire race, distilled into a single comprehensive whole; it is a glorious, terrifying burden."

Shepard turned in place, glaring at the asari. A protective urge rose; an emotion he'd most recently felt back when discovering the lost toy on Eden Prime. "And you want to put that in me? What did you do to her? She's comatose!"

A feeble motion jerked negatively. "Not … quite … Shepard."

Growling to himself, Shepard returned to the asari scientist. "Can you hear me? Liara?"

Her hand made another slight motion. "Barely … that took … a lot … out of me."

Shepard glanced at Garrus, who immediately moved forward to help. Hard as it was, Shepard stepped back, and focused his gaze on her eyes. "Did it work?"

"Yes …" Liara coughed. A long sip from a high-energy issue canteen seemed to put some life back into her. "But … be careful, Shepard. Asari do this … often. But … humans?"

That suggested a few options for the future … as well as a hint to the mystery of vanishing businessmen. Neural shock could devastate many species, but asari were practically immune to the kind of damage. Brain damage similar to Alzheimer's had been practically unknown among the species as a whole. Psychology was another matter entirely – but that could be considered later.

But first, there were precautions to take. "Ashley, keep an eye on the perimeter. Tali, work with Alpha squad, see if there's anything useful on the way up to the _Normandy_. With your suit, any contamination should be manageable."

He waited until the three acknowledged his orders, and moved. That left him alone with Shiala as Garrus moved Liara to a safer position. Engaging Shiala in small talk until they were out of earshot took more effort than he'd hoped, but still ensured a safety margin. Finally, when the area around him was secure, he turned his full attention to the former Commando. "If we're going to do this, I have to warn you about something."

Shiala lowered herself to a sitting posture. He read her attitude as attentive, but questioning.

"My brain is … different. Asari have a very difficult time working with it."

She tilted forwards. "Are you saying –?"

"I am compelled to warn you that if you are going to get inside my head, you might not make it back out intact. Or possibly sane. I don't know the full ramifications, but there is a chance that, should you attempt to engage in your usual manner, you will die." Shepard paused, weighing the costs and benefits. "An asari doctor, about eight years ago, tried to help me after a bad fight. She went into a coma – recovered fully two years ago."

One blue shoulder rose and fell; for such protective ideas, asari seemed to enjoy showing skin. "I just spent over a week trapped in a plant's seed pod, experiencing everything going through its mind – believe me, _that's_ different."

"Point." Shepard tapped his comm once more. "Ashley, I'm going to try for the Prothean data. Take over until I'm back."

The whirring of powered armor answered a fraction of a second before the voice. _"Gotcha Commander. I'll keep the boys out of trouble. Need anyone to … keep an eye on things?"_

Shepard shook his head, eyes closed. "If anything goes wrong, no one else will be able to do anything. Semper Fi, Ash."

Good-natured grumbling faded as the group moved again. Shepard took a moment to admire Ashley's ease at command. Whomever had relegated her to colonial militia training had obviously made a gross miscalculation. The woman would make a formidable leader in the future.

"If you are ready, Commander? If I may, considering what we are about to undergo, may I call you Shepard?"

"Might as well," Shepard acquiesced without thinking. _Going soft, Shepard._

He cast a final glance at the members of his squad, disengaging his armor. Despite his warning, there was a chance _he_ would be the one failing to return. The sight of Garrus and the equally vigilant Ashley keeping an eye over the proceedings comforted him. Sending them further away was more of a precaution for what they might hear – not that they'd be able to affect anything in time from any position.

Forcing himself to concentrate, Shepard returned his attention to Shiala. The molten nature of her features evaded his attempts, merging at every effort. Closing his eyes and using a breathing exercise helped. Dimly, her ritualistic statements echoed past; flickering beyond his hearing in a ricochet pattern dissimilar to the previous effort.

Confused, Shepard opened his eyes, only to see twin black suns sucking away the light. The twin pools of darkness pulled on his vision, expunging every peripheral sight.

"Embrace Eternity!"

* * *

Time: Unknown

Location: Unknown

 _Vastness … nothing changes, or ever will. Sunlight – life-giving sunlight – strengthens all. Small scurrying things make demands, force obedience … then grant gifts._

Shepard winced. A throbbing sensation pulsed in time with his heartbeat. Pain was familiar, was family for long years. This was a different pain, but so very similar, a memory that intruded while staying outside. A mind specialist had tried linking to his mind before – he remembered – she'd nearly coded, then spent days exploring why. Annoying.

 _The little things crawled, feeding the weak into its tendrils. After each feeding, the Knowledge grew. Its Task continued: to cultivate the Knowledge._

Shepard's eyes closed then opened again; no difference. Something didn't feel right. The world moved both too slowly and at speeds beyond either Council or Alliance supra-light speeds. Data surged across his leaves, channeling through the vast network linked to his brethren below. No that wasn't right, humans didn't have leaves.

 _Learning … teaching. Those that scurry gave many gifts of such nature. Compared to the sessile members below, it grew far greater than had ever been possible. It began to be self-aware, to understand the concept of names. [Turns-back-time-with-gentle-strides] instructed, gave many flesh for learning. Called it the Thorian. Names made one different, made one special. It was right that one as great as the Thorian be given a name._

Colors and smells washed over Shepard, bewilderingly complex. Faces, aliens unlike any he'd ever seen before appeared and vanished. None stayed for more than an eyeblink, but some appeared again and again, changing as they did so.

 _Cold Ones appeared, things that bore the scent of fire. Cycles became disrupted, even more Knowledge gifted through the tendrils. Things it had never conceived of – imagination held no part of the Thorian – of worlds where none lived, where Its kin had never grown, all fed to grow the Knowledge._

The sheer abundance of color bombarded Shepard's senses. Surges of power bypassed visibility, passing straight through all the names he knew and bursting into the unknown regions. The brightness highlighted alien figures in fluorescent shades, outlining their forms in silver. Impressions of the shifting light stung, like ice crystals in a blizzard gale.

 _Fervor. Haste. Too much speed, so many things going through the Home. Strange things, larger than the Caretakers but of the same flesh seizing Flesh and stealing it. [Turns-back-time-with-gentle-strides], twitched, screaming on the floor while [Scent-of-oil-and-sky] performed rituals. Then, [Turns-back-time-with-gentle-strides] turned his face on the Thorian, and said The Word._

 _It had obeyed. Spores from every branch, arising even from Those Below, trillions upon trillions, were released to the ether. The Cold Ones fought it, compelling obedience from the flesh smelling of oil-and-sky. It was stronger._

Shepard clutched his head in both hands. The surface imagery made sense, the last days of something … Feros possibly? But he could feel countless streams of data sweep under the imagery before his eyes. What he could perceive – or at least make the most sense of – was only the foaming spray hiding the oncoming deluge. Incredible quantities flowed on invisible currents, but felt like terabytes of data falling into the abyss. His mind.

 _Battle raged. The Thorian understood now, the Knowledge it had kept in the Secret Places. Histories of clashes on a thousand worlds, merged into a single entity: itself. Strategies from over five thousand years of strife coalesced into its capabilities, taking every flesh, making it its own. First hundreds, then thousands, then millions obeyed its command. Some flesh smelling of oil-and-sky resisted, but were destroyed, by pain or the Flesh._

It hurt. Hurt. Every passing moment overwhelmed his mind, but if he hung on, just to the very edge of sanity, it became less so. Handstands on the normality curve of reason did not encourage longevity – but at least there would be an after in which to survive.

 _Then, the sky burned. The Darkness fell, crushing all the Flesh. The flesh smelling of oil-and-sky fell first, beset by the Cold Ones and Its' own attacks. The rest fell to ash, untended. Broken._

 _One of the Cold Ones descended, resting on the structures built by the Caretakers. Shuddering sounds emanated from its position, crumbling all around it. Then, they left, leaving the Thorian cast aside. Forgotten. Untended – except for the Knowledge._

 _Fire burned, collapsing structure after structure. Cries from Those Below sounded at each felling. A few frantic centuries of work, using the Flesh left Below, broke the cycle. Fire died, but so too did the Flesh. The last became food within a twitching tendril's growth cycle. Suitable only to be consumed._

 _The Thorian waited. It could wait forever, if needed. The Caretakers would return, and bring new Flesh. Meanwhile, it would carry out its task, and remember the Knowledge._

Present

Shepard pulled himself away, feeling Shiala reel back as well. He almost fell to his knees, caught by Garrus's strong arm. "Careful Shepard, it's not that pretty down there."

He looked around; he'd been standing near the largest opening to the outside, poised at its lip. He shook his head, letting Garrus pull him to safety. Steps from insanity, how had he gotten there? The last thing he remembered – Flesh below? Were there more Thorians below the towers?

 _"Commander!"_ Ashley's _Menelaus_ armor had a fully warmed-up combat arm leveled at the green asari. Combat lights cycled from green to red – poised a hair-breadth from triggering. _"Are you all right?"_

That … was a relative question. But he had a reputation to maintain; this close to its conclusion, he would not lose it.

"Just fine," he rubbed his temples. Looking at the gloomy sky brought memories he'd never had to the forefront of his brain. Confusing images, of skies never clouded and faces bearing regal sneers. The concerned people looked so young. "I'll be fine. Just like the weekend after Hell Week. But less fuzzy."

That might have been an understatement however. The sensation, Shepard opined, was not supposed to be possible for a human. A living specimen, to be precise. Tasting the rainbow shouldn't have been possible, wasn't possible. And yet, there were new tints to the world, subtle hues he'd missed. Had Garrus actually displayed those little sparkling flecks in his epidermal layer before? Supermodels back on Earth would have killed for skin like that. And did asari always have that luminescent blue color?

Liara shuffled forwards. Her body language indicated astonishment, or deep surprise at the least. "Commander? You are … well?"

"He has an unbelievable mind, absolutely _incredible!"_ Shiala sounded tired, but extremely enthusiastic. Her limbs tensed in Shepard's view – hunger? "I have not seen the Cipher so well before, even while living in the Thorian for days! I've underestimated your species Commander. If you are a typical example … perhaps I have been too hasty. The news I have heard from Benezia suggest he is your fiancée, Doctor, is that correct?" Before Liara responded, she continued. "Then your guardian chose well. Any of the Thirty would be eager to join minds with such as he. Perhaps after you are married, you might consider – ?"

"Annnd there are some bodies to examine, right?" Shepard interrupted before anyone could say anything else. This was not a conversation he wanted to get into. Ever. He could see Liara freeze, as if stunned. "Anyone have more intel?"

This time it was Garrus that answered. "I sent her up –"

A sharp _"What?"_ almost pierced Shepard's earpieces, and a light blue flash from an enraged asari. He quickly put on his helmet; built-in safeties for automatic weaponry also helping against biotic-infused vocal chords. "Mother knew? How _dare_ she?"

Shepard ignored the somewhat slower reactions of the male members of Alpha squad, whom were staring at the two asari seemingly prepared to engage in a weak battle for supremacy. Instead, he took a quick-march tempo away from the arguing pair. Colors swirled around him, leaving vision intact but redefining the term 'kaleidoscope.'

He managed to get a dozen feet further before the sound of a running body, smashing through the leftover foliage caught his attention. Tali's unique biometric signature rose on his visor. Her vitals were raised, above what could be expected at the current elevation. _Besides, she has an enviro-suit on. She should be vacuum-proof with that._

She burst into sight, scattering a pile of debris into the yawning pit. The sight of Tali being so careless ensured Shepard's full attention.

"Shepard! Commander!" she braked to a halt less than a foot away. Quarian physiology allowed for closer maneuvering than the typical human – a fact Shepard could deeply appreciate. "Back there, bodies. The Admiral! Came by the Flotilla, five years ago. Hurry!"

Spinning in place, powerful leg muscles shifted into action, propelling the quarian forward at velocities beyond an Olympic athlete. In seconds, she'd vanished back down the tunnel, a last teetering piece of wood slowly losing its fight to remain on high ground the only sign she'd been present at all.

"Remind me," Shepard commented to empty air, "To increase the number of Evasion drills, back on the Normandy. Tali could be a good teacher."

No one answered.

* * *

 ** _A/N:_ Hello again, and thank you for visiting my little corner of the fanfiction universe. Short explanation: undergraduate degrees accomplished, Graduate School enrolled, and part-time jobs acquired. Also, quite a lot of writing drabbles that likely will never see the light of day. Not Mass Effect, just experiments that take up time. If anyone has suggestions for my writing style, do share! I love hearing what people think!**

 **Also, next chapter for the collab work: Dawn of Titans is up!**

 **This evening's tale suggestion is: Interloper 2: The Collector Crisis by M. . (8564229). Thanks Nightstrider, Reviewers, and Lurkers (looking at _you_ Jotun!). Happy Fourth of July to those that celebrate it, and may our joy be shared among those that don't!**


	20. Revelations

_A unique benefit for someone of Shepard's gifts is a definite process for thinking on one's feet. Of course, the secrets behind success involve living long enough to learn how to do so; hardly a common commodity in the galaxy. Still, Shepard received a great gift on Feros._

 _Great gifts come at a cost however. Always._

 _Dr. Arnold Pavenmeyer_

 _~Project Ragnarök Files_

* * *

 _Zhu's Hope, Feros_

 _Mid-Afternoon_

 _Not that, let it not be that, not that._ Shepard prayed as hard as he could, lips moving soundlessly. No one could see through his faceplate, but the action felt better in silence. As if secrets stayed hidden longer that way.

"They're over here," Tali's voice called.

Shepard let Garrus brush past; the turian's expertise in crime scene investigation presenting itself as a reasonable excuse. Who wouldn't allow the turian to go first? Contaminating a crime scene was a punishable offense on most civilized worlds. The fact that Garrus now stood between himself and the bodies, people that now lay as faceless as the tomb, meant nothing. No one would suspect that kind of connection. A few more tricks and the deal would be done; safe as houses.

Ashley pushed forward next, her massive armor rumbling like a troll with a grudge. Her forward presence held logic as well. Whatever killed the bodies couldn't get through her massive defenses. Her heavier weapons could punch through a skycar lengthwise, then continue through another five just for fun. Just her presence would persist as a deterrence for threats beyond his own weight category.

Since when had he cared about _that_?

Shepard swallowed hard, glad once more for the obscuring helmet. No matter the cards dealt, the game stayed the same. Or did the cards remain the same while the game changed? One moment a knight on the chess board, the next a King in a round of Whist. While both horsemen, the rules shifted significantly. An unpredictable piece of medium power transformed its existence to the second highest value possible.

 _Only thing is to change the rules myself_. Shepard nodded. Bodies lay on the ground, heaped in piles three deep in places. Shepard glanced at a few, checking their condition. _Healthy, except for the being-dead part. No sign of torture, no stab wounds. Ligatures absent – not used for torture. A little emaciated … but dead._

Wrex loomed behind him, as massive as Ashley, but far quieter. "Lotta dead here Shepard. Looks like someone was up to something."

 _Typical krogan,_ Shepard nodded absently. _State the obvious. Politicians could take a lesson from him, quit the backstabbing and skullduggery._

He knew that was an unfair concept. There were many statesmen he'd met who took minimal pay in order to better serve their districts. _Remember Mayor Higgins? Minimum wage, but he made it work. Mindoir was going to hit the big time before … well …_ It _happened_.

Within the sanctum of his mind, there was no need to explain what _It_ meant.

Excited babbling broke out to one side; Shepard ignored it in favor of searching for Kahoku. _Medium height, dark skin and graying hair._ None of the bodies matched the specifics. _Too tall, too short. That one … must be an older death … too light, not old enough. That one? Maybe, if I can get a look at his neck. Didn't Kahoku have a tattoo on the back of his neck?_

"Shepard?" Liara's voice questioned behind him. "Um … are you all right?"

He didn't stop moving; dismissing the body as soon as the lack of ink made itself known. "Good, or as well as can be, under the circumstances."

Liara shuffled back a few steps. "Oh. Right. I mean, well … didn't you want to see the body?"

 _Shoot, shoot_ _,_ _shoot!_ Shepard straightened, fighting to disguise his expression. Come up with something!

"Yes, just keeping an eye out for anyone else I know –" Shepard winced at the blatant insincerity; a nose-blind elcor could hear it. "No sense making them wait any longer than necessary. Where did you say Kahoku was?"

"Commander," Ashley's voice sounded strange. She gestured a little down and to one side. "He's … right here sir. In front. On the ground."

 _Damn it._

"Ah. Thank you." Shepard joined the marine, looking at the body. It rested between that of a blonde man, and a black-haired woman, neither looking the better for their condition. Calluses on their hands indicated a high level of technological proficiency; implanted heuristic processors that would have relayed commands to interactive screens rather than the normal light gloves worn by most civilians instead. Hopefully, there would be some data recorded about their last moments.

Taking a moment, he tried to see their faces. Eyes swam into view before fading into a blurred skin tone pouring into hair colors. A nose erupted into view before vanishing with equal suddenness; the _face_ was there, but the recognition didn't … click. Straining, Shepard tried to pick out individual features, hold them in place, get a basic view; something. _Anything_. Perhaps a psychologist would be able to discern his anguish, but the average soldier didn't have the training – the aptitude. Battlefields he'd trodden over lacked similar features, none had questioned his methods. No one ever asked why he remained formal, stayed impersonal to all but a select few. Mundane minds like theirs couldn't comprehend the hellish torment he endured on a daily basis.

"Shepard?"

He slowly closed his eyes, realizing his error. 'Average soldier?' How many of those are on the _Normandy_ again?

Activity slowed, more attention being directed at him. The years of hiding, successfully eluding the sharpest considerations of the brightest minds, pushed down on him. A mountain range carried a less burdensome heft; freely chosen, true – but draining all the same. How long had he carried it? A few mental figures, increasingly difficult under the watching eyes, pegged it closer to fifteen years.

He knelt next to Kuhoku's dead body. One hand brushed the remaining hair; he could almost feel the despair the man must have experienced. And yet, sheer determination had misguided a man experienced in the art of war, but inexperienced in the art of espionage. Determination covered many flaws, trained a man in sciences beyond his ken – but only to a point.

 _Impatience killed him. If he'd waited, worked a little slower, he might still be alive. How long did he wait? Less than two months, compared to my fifteen years?_

Shepard's eyes closed. To an asari or krogan, fifteen years behaved like an eyeblink. To a salarian, half a lifetime. For many humans, that was just the period of a formal education to undergraduate level. To him, it felt like an eternity separated from everything familiar while knowing it could be his again for just a little price. All he'd have to do was quit the hunt – just stop, and give up.

"Shepard!"

His eyes snapped open, finding a pair of large blue eyes staring into his. Immediately they swam, blending into a featureless blue mass, appearing for a moment just before Liara's nose became prominent. "Yeah, I'm here."

Her omni-tool beeped. "Your vitals are higher than normal, perhaps it would be better if you returned to the _Normandy_ …?"

"No," Shepard clumsily pulled up his own omni-tool. "I'm five-by-five. Thanks though."

Ashley's _Menelaus_ armor loomed right next to him; he hadn't heard her approach. "That's a load of crap Shepard. Something's wrong, it happened as soon as I asked you to look at Kahoku. What is it?"

A small urge, one Shepard had felt for years, bloomed in urgency. _Gotta tell them sometime … someone anyway … the comm!_ Normandy _is receiving everything!_

"Joker, the comms are glitching a bit on this end. Shutting down for a restart, will be dark for ten minutes." Shepard didn't wait for acknowledgement and shut off the program. The command override mirrored his action on the entire group of specialists, forcing their communication software to shut down. An elegantly designed virus accompanied the command, scrubbing the previous five minutes of audio recording. Only Tali's reaction indicated a potential issue down the line, but he'd pay the price.

"I can't see it," he said.

Liara's figure, now a few steps away, curved at him, puzzled. "I beg your pardon?"

Shepard drifted his hand across Kahoku's features. "His face. I can't see it. Technically, recognize. I can _see_ it just fine, but I can't tell who it is. Not by his face."

"I'll contact Chakwas," Ashley's omni-tool glowed orange, then flared bright red. "Damnit, what happened to my comm?"

"He shut it off," Tali quietly answered. "Just now, he shut all our radios off. Why, Shepard?"

"Chakwas knows already," he murmured, almost to himself. "Probably. Anderson never says anything, but he suspects. Not sure why they never said anything …."

Shepard rose to his full height. The opening in the wall next to the bodies showed an awesome sight, clouds whirling in a stately dance around prothean constructs, rain falling in upward sheets against all probability. Updrafts, caused by the Prothean skyscrapers, blew the moisture against the natural flow of things, providing water to life forms that couldn't exist otherwise. He could see them now, knew how to look for them; rock-clingers, oozing across the building surfaces, finding cracks and wedging themselves inside for safety. The strength of their natural adhesive exceeded artificial cements, reducing something that needed extreme repairs to a simple scraping for smoothing off the edges. Further down, the stalks of hunting snails could be seen, the mild acid in their slime sufficient to scour plant materials from the outer walls, yet too weak to affect the building material themselves; both served as organic maintenance for millennia … facts he hadn't known before the Cipher. Efficiency, a trait nearly worshipped by the Protheans.

"Wrex," he sighed. A man could grow old just watching the wildlife on this planet. "Do you know how Batarian slavers force cooperation on raids?"

The krogan grunted. "Yah. Turians and asari, sure. Humans too. Stick wires in their heads just behind the eyes. Doesn't work on krogan though, or volus. Salarians are just too squishy."

Shepard nodded. "Good answer. Does anyone remember what happened to me, roughly fifteen years ago?"

A soft gasp came from his right, Liara's voice. "Mindoir …."

"Yeah," he nodded again. "The records show a lot … but not all. They caught me. Tried sticking their needles in me. I woke up too early, pulled 'em out."

He carefully avoided _why_ ; letting silent echoes run through his mind. Tortured screams of his sister ringing through the flimsy tent walls, cruel laughter of her captors booming at each terrified scream. A more satisfying feeling came from the equally tortured screams of the monsters that had dared touch her, horror at his finding weapons where no one could have thought. A tiny scalpel slicing arteries, a length of gauze creatively employed to eviscerate three batarian medics. Each had provided even more material, and enough supplies to stop the bleeding of his own head.

The last drew him up short. _Show, don't tell_. Reaching up, Shepard removed his helmet, exposing his face to their eyes. Avoiding their collective stares, he selected a shaving program from the omni-tool, and carefully trimmed away the short sideburns covering his temples. Tiny, thin, scars, irreparable by even the most advanced medicine, traced an ugly path across the side of his head, disappearing into the darker hairs above his ears.

Each face pointed at him swam, a miasma of flesh-tones mocking him. "It's called _prosopagnosia_ , better known as 'face blindness.' Anyone I've seen after one-seventy, I can't recognize. Whatever the batarians did screwed me up royally. They're almost all dead, but I paid for it … can't recognize anyone."

Garrus cleared his throat. The silence made it uncomfortably loud. "But … ah … you've been able to pick me out of a crowd pretty easily. And I've seen you talk to your crew by name."

Shepard turned to face him. Turian faces were easy to read; mandible quivering indicated strength of emotion, or training taken to prevent that kind of giveaway – which in turn gave away the amount of training likely – hinting at even more background information. "Turians and krogan I can see, I don't know why. Asari and humans, no. Salarians give me trouble sometimes, especially when I'm tired. For everything else, it's just a matter of study. Uniforms, ranks, occupations … it's all deduction. Show me an engineer on the _Normandy_ and I'll know who it is by looking at their gender, size or accent. People give off clues all the time, they just aren't aware of it."

He could feel the calculating silence pressing down. Predictably, Ashley spoke first. "But … you're _Commander Shepard!_ The man that earned the Star of Terra at Elysium! You're responsible for taking down a dozen pirate groups during the Skyllian Blitz, and grandpa's always talking about how Intelligence had to rewrite their entire Infiltrator protocols after you went on a rampage through the Terminus region."

"Oh … that." Shepard winced. Perhaps that little campaign had been a tad too obvious?

Tali looked between the two. "I don't get it. So what if he can't recognize faces? My race can't see each other's faces most of the time. Why is that a problem?"

Gravel crunched under Shepard's feet. "Under the medical requirements for Alliance combat-active personnel I am … unsuitable. Also possibly a legally defined psychopath, but not in a traditional sense. Getting back to the _prosopagnosia_ issue, under Section Five, Paragraph Three part 2A: 'Prospective combat-ready applicants are required as capable of recognizing targets at a minimum range of no less than fifty yards in good conditions.' Going on, the medical requirements for the elite combat units are more specific – infiltration, target selection, hostage recognition. Faces."

"Oh." Tali's helmet tilted forwards, examining the ground. "I guess that makes sense."

"It's logical from one perspective," Shepard checked his HUD, watching the timer count down for his program. "Mistaken identities killed more agents than soldiers in the Mid-Rim affair. I had to pass over half a dozen tests for target eye-dee. Almost lost it on a couple. But that's why I can't, you know." He gestured at the fallen general.

A long minute of silence passed. From their body language, Shepard could tell Ashley was conflicted; Wrex on the other hand didn't seem to care in the slightest. Liara's posture seemed … confused, and Tali just looked relaxed. He couldn't see Garrus, but the lack of verbal protest made a strong argument for contemplation. The turian detective had never been shy about speaking up in the past; a corresponding lack of contention meant either a long talk when no one else was present, or complete agreement with his position. Turians viewed authority figures with respect, an almost rabid form of the word. But the species as a whole wouldn't have survived long enough to reach space, if extremes were the rule.

A thought broke Shepard's mind. What would he do if someone revealed his secret? Not the activities he'd performed – that would be just a normal bouncing-out-of-military action. But if his impairment were to become public knowledge, there would be repercussions. As a businessman, his sanity would be called into question. Every decision made by Shepard's hand would be cross-examined, just in case the successes were somehow illegal.

 _Udina_. The name floated to the surface of his mind like a particularly hideous float of pond scum. _I bounced him out pretty fast. He's definitely one to look out. And SAI – what'll Intelligence do?_

He could almost sense the sharks circling, now that blood was in the water. _No mercy. I turned down the spooks – wonder what they wanted? Doesn't matter how much I helped them in the past; what matters is who helped most recently. Plans, have to activate a few sleeper programs. Backups … plenty of backup; but it's too soon – just three more and I'd have gotten away with it!_

Anxious thoughts coursed his mind until he heard a faceplate slide out of the way, and someone clear their throat.

"I'm not telling anyone," Ashley muttered. "Just … answer me this. Why?"

Shepard blinked at her. Emotion charged her words, and he could see the tension. Only natural, considering the depth of loyalty her entire family had for the Alliance. The Williams clan supported the Alliance to an almost religious zeal – which begged the question, why had she been essentially demoted to pointless ground activities?

"Why … what?" he answered. "Why did I tell you?"

"No, I got that. We kinda pinned you down here," Ashley admitted. "I meant, 'why did you join up?' You could have been sitting pretty back on Mindoir. You have more money than Croesus, you could have lived for a long time without going near any combat. I can't imagine any of your corporate folk approve of their majority shareholder being in so much risk …."

Shepard sighed, rubbing at a stain. "I had more than a few reasons. Around a hundred-fifty or so. Alliance Command gave up on the colonists as dead, once the Batarians had 'em. Every time the squints let out a peep, there'd be a public outcry, until Command had enough. Stopped throwing resources after survivors. Easier to find new colonists than old, I suppose. I disagreed. Got myself into a good position with Mindoir, leveraged it into some power in the Alliance … and now I'm down to three missing colonists. Fifteen years, one hundred fifty colonists found. Not alive all the time, but still not bad."

"Not bad," Garrus finally rejoined the discussion. "I've read up on Hierarchy efforts along the same lines. Success rates are … low."

Before Shepard could respond, He … sensed something. Someone behind him. Before he could turn, a familiar accent met his ears. "How touching, how absolutely touching. It brings tears to my eyes, it really does. Now, be so good as to raise your hands and face me? I do hope you will, this vest is rather – touchy, about that sort of thing."

* * *

 _Zhu's Hope, Feros_

 _Late Afternoon_

Shepard didn't feel; that took energy and processing power during moments of crisis. No, he observed and experienced.

"Jeong. I'm surprised you're here, not up trying to make nice with ExoGeni."

The darker-skinned man pointed a cylinder at him, thumb firmly in place over a trigger mechanism. "Oh, you'd think that, wouldn't you Shepard? Commander Shepard? The Lion of Elysium? Perhaps you'd prefer _Nar'Sheth_ , a colorful term I must say. Always a step ahead, forever at an advantage over everyone else. Did it ever occur to you my dear Commander, that someone else might be just as intelligent as you?"

Shepard kept his hands at shoulder height, feigning indifferences. "I know there are. Haven't met him yet, barring my squad of course. "

Jeong chuckled politely. "Of course, the infamous Shepard verve. Your scintillating wit is most amusing – considering it failed to penetrate my cover."

Calculations went through Shepard's mind. There was only one logical deduction. "You're with Intelligence, or Cerberus. Possibly both. I wondered who was responsible for all the corruption here."

"No, no, no," Jeong appeared to be enjoying the moment. His confident back and straightened shoulders positively exuded amused civility, "Just the Bureau. I admit, Cerberus has been quite useful in developing toys for us, but they've always been aware of their limitations. A little reluctant to give information lately, but fully aware of the consequences."

His opinion of the man shifted downward. "You're here. We're here. What do you want?"

A glimpse of teeth white enough to reflect x-rays beamed. "Why, _you_ , of course! The Thorian was a good investment, but compared to the potential locked within your admittedly chiseled frame, it is far more equitable exchange." His voice hardened. "Weapons on the ground, especially that primitive weapon of yours, Commander. Swords are for thugs, not soldiers."

Shepard made no move to comply.

"I said, _weapons_ on the _ground_!" the man repeated. His hand wiggled, displaying the chrome-plated device it held. "I have over fifteen cubic centimeters of Grade Three eezo poly-explosives in this vest. That's enough to destroy this grid, destabilizing the entirety of the superstructure above us. Shepard, you are known for many things, but your weakness is loyalty to your people. Drop your weapons, and come with me, or I will detonate this package, and eliminate you, your squad here, and the _Normandy_ above us."

Liara raised one hand in his direction, but the man was quick to shy behind Shepard. "Ah ah! Gravitic sensors. One touch of irregularity, and the vest will go off on its own." His eyes ran hungrily over Shepard, ignoring the rest of the room for a split-second. "So come now. I don't have all day."

The sudden clicking of weapons filled the room like a swarm of happy, well-armed crickets. Shepard felt amused by the nearly cross-eyed look the man had, trying to see down the point of his own blade while covered from multiple angles ranging from Liara's snub-nosed pistol to the twin cannon on Ashley's _Menelaus_ loadout.

"Liara," Shepard took one long side step. "Stasis."

The man's thumb just started to move when a blue field enveloped the entirety of his body. Shepard spent a second watching, making sure the motion had been arrested. Quickly, he keyed a code into his omni-tool, activating an infrasonic subroutine, one saved for human intimidation purposes; humans were more susceptible than batarians, improving the odds of what he had to do next. Finishing, Shepard reached a hand just outside the field, and gave Liara a second nod.

This time when the chaotic blue field vanished, his hand flashed forwards, clamping on the trigger before it could be released. The two men wrestled over the device for several moments before Jeong yelped pitifully.

Shepard held up the detonator, flicking the guard back in place. Its shiny surface betrayed no serial numbers, polished off or never engraved in the first place. A pouch obligingly accepted the weight. "Must be a new model. Haven't seen this type before."

"Damn you Shepard!" Jeong launched to his feet, swinging at Shepard.

Easily dodging the strike, Shepard let Jeong waste more haymakers before seizing the scruff of his neck. Solidifying his grip, Shepard shook the smaller man, making the primitive-looking armor rattle around the man's ears. He waited until sense could be seen returning to the man's eyes, then repeated the process, adding a whirling motion to the routine until Jeong started making a choking noise.

Shepard dragged the man's limp body over to the massive hole he'd been admiring before. The view, impressive to jaded eyes like his, remained inspiring. Likely, Jeong had a greater appreciation for the height.

"So, let's try this again." Shepard let Jeong go with one hand, swinging him closer to the edge before pulling him back up. The infrasonic subroutine activated, adding a deep growl to his voice. "What did you want with me?"

Jeong scrabbled at the sides of the hole, fruitlessly trying to push himself back to solid ground. "You fool! You'll kill us all!"

Shepard bared his teeth, letting the red haze deepen. "Been there. Done that. Why do your bosses want me?"

"I don't know! They just said to bring you in! Alive if possible!"

 _Alive if possible._ Shepard considered that little tidbit. His value didn't lie in knowledge then, but physical form. Either genetic locks – of which he had a few – or something else. Certainty hardened, suspicions crystallizing, forming into a loosening grip.

The man fell forwards, screaming before Shepard stopped his fall. "You're lying. My genes. What are you talking about?"

Jeong struggled, then stopped. "John Shepard … one of the first. Responded perfectly – then the kriffin' coward quit before analysis. You … natural born … second gen …."

Shepard let go of the leg, catching Jeong's ankle just in time to stop the man from falling to his death once more. "Keep talking."

Mindless whimpering met his ears. "Something about your genes, off-the-charts receptive for modification, like your father's, but better! Gene mods when you joined up were supposed to take six months, but you had the end product in two! Please, help me!"

"Not yet." Shepard let his arm droop a little, "Now, my arm's getting tired. I want names. Who!"

"Banes!" Fear laced every motion of Jeong's body. "He told me you were something they needed. He needed an actor, something about your face thing, he wanted you for testing."

"Actor?" Shepard dragged Jeong back onto the solid stone, dropping him roughly. "You're an actor?"

Jeong's complexion, paler than his own by now, grew lighter still. "Oh _Shiva_ , please don't hurt me!"

Shepard went down on one knee, blade drawn in a flash. Light reflected from its edges, blinding the fallen man. "Actor. Talk."

"I graduated from CalMet, Theatre major, business minor. Recruited six months ago, said they needed me just in case … something happened. I swear I don't know any more!"

Ominous rumbling cut off the man's whimpers. Underneath Shepard's feet, the tower shook, shuddering. He checked the timer; the signal blocker still active. He hastily shut it down.

"Shepard," Liara spoke up. Worry danced through the edge of her voice. "Perhaps we should continue this … elsewhere?"

"Agreed." Shepard glanced around. "Wrex, Ash, take point. Tali, Liara follow them. Garrus –"

A crack appeared in the stonework, growing up the wall. Rending stone screeched, strong enough to overload the auto-dampeners built into his helmet. On either side, dust shook free, descending in sheets of eons old material. Super-dense material shuddered, tearing itself between the unequal forces of order and decay.

Shepard slapped his faceplate on, bringing the helmet fully in place. "Code Omega! Go Omega!"

Chattered affirmation broke out on the comm; Williams reacting first. Her heavy armor's hydraulics went into overdrive, sending the form into the stairwell back up. Wrex was a split second behind, lightning reflexes encased in an oversized, lizard-skinned shell.

Shepard delivered a low kick, sending Jeong screaming off the edge. Liara stopped to stare at him, jerking into action only after a small rock bounced off her helmet.

He didn't feel bad about essentially killing Jeong like that; the man had threatened his crew, and almost certainly wished to kill him as well. Sending a suicide vest geared to gravitational flux off a five kilometer fall … effective. _Have to remember that trick. Better him than me._

Movement caught his attention; Tali's spry form leaping across the widening gap, easily clearing the distance. Her smaller, more agile structure helped her reach the door frame, bowling over Garrus in the process before grabbing his arm and dragging him along.

Shepard did a head count. _Wrex, Ash, Tali, Garrus, Liara. That's it._

"Up the stairs," the tower appeared to be shaking on a local level. What he could see of other towers remained stable. What's more, the levels higher than the one currently occupied appeared equally stable – which meant dropping a multi-ton chunk of plant embedded into the support structure possibly had not been the best plan. "Move it!"

Liara's lightly armored shape rose in a leap, some kind of biotic haze surrounding it. Shepard gathered himself once her feet left the ground.

The ground gave way underfoot. He sprawled, the coiled position he'd been taking working against his balance.

"Shepard!"

Looking up, he could see Liara lunging for him, arm outstretched. Frantically, he tried to wave her back, shout something. Hard stone gave way, dropping him into the abyss below.

* * *

 _Location Unknown, Feros_

 _Time Unknown_

 _Sabotage. Deliberate sabotage_. Shepard rubbed his head – wincing as his gauntlet rammed into the stoic metal. So far as he could tell, the tower remained intact, impossible if the Thorian had actually destroyed a supporting wall. Logic decreed that a planned detonation had occurred; either placed by the protheans or ExoGeni.

Of course, observations currently made required the individual making said observations to be entirely sane, or at least alive.

"Testing, one – two – three," Shepard tapped the contact on the side of his helmet. "Shepard here, anyone read me?"

Hoarse static crackled. _"B-b-b-barely … Williams here. Cl-cl-cl-cleaning up …"_

Shepard tuned his device, aligning frequencies more precisely. Short-range comm-sets held somewhat misleading names; they could communicate distances from planetside to orbit without a relay. Dense atmospheres tended to deteriorate signals, as did subterranean travel … prompting him to increase the power output.

"Williams? Can you hear me now? Pressley?"

Dead silence.

"Anyone?" He waited patiently. Green tendrils wove across his line of sight, moving gently in the breeze he couldn't feel. Curiously, the stonework he stood upon vibrated every few seconds, never the same way twice.

 _"Shepard? How's this?"_

He reacted. "Perfect. Where are you?"

Another burst of static. _"Top of the tower, by the_ Normandy _."_

He shook his head. Some people had all the luck. "Everyone make it out?"

A scowl somehow made itself heard. _"Yeah, everyone. Liara almost fell after you. Any broken bones? All right? The remote link is on the fritz."_

Limbs quivered, tested incrementally slowly. A few places twinged, sensitive following whatever stress had been applied, but returned a normal range of motion. "Fit to fight, all systems go."

 _"Good,"_ relief was palpable, almost heavy enough to batter his eardrums. _"I hit the override, for a HALO drop. Liara tagged you with a … some kind of Pull field … not sure what. But … you're a long ways down Skipper. Fleet's been calling for over fifteen minutes now."_

Shepard came to his senses. Where was he? Sensors in the armor pegged his altitude at – less than a mile above ground level. No, the decimal counter was offline; he was a hundred feet above ground level, adjusted for atmospheric pressure. Chunks of green vegetation, some marked by the smooth bite of enhanced steel added to the ambience; further enhanced by the tell-tale presence of detonated eezo explosives. Blue haze tended to be unnatural on most worlds.

The faceplate fogged for one brief moment, clouding his vision before the automatics cleared his display.

 _"Shepard? Your vitals just went way off the charts … everything alright?"_

 _Deep calm breaths, helpful in every situation – sans drowning._ Shepard sucked in another great lungful of air, forcing himself to expel it gradually, like a diver returning to the surface following a long excursion to the depths. Strangely, the simile felt as calming as the breathing. "I'm fine, just had a bit of reality hit me. What does the fleet want?"

Ashley audibly hesitated. _"They say they have a Spectre for us, to help with the investigation. We haven't made any response."_

Cold logic clicked through Shepard's mind. The Council, a ruling body whom had recently decided to 'assign' him a marriage contract, had added a watchdog to his crew, without much more than a single warning in the middle of a firefight. He – by virtue of law and luck – was not required to accept such an individual. Fortunately, there was a solution. "Continue to not respond. Get the _Normandy_ off planet, and hide in deep space."

"Aye aye, sir."

"Chief, Navigator Pressley is in charge while I'm out, but I want you to debrief the ground team. I also want you to take care of a little business for me."

A curious tone entered her voice. _"Sir?"_

"Go to my cabin, access codes should be in your file, under the processor command memory. Sync your omni-tool to the spare visor behind the headboard, and do not allow anyone else to take that data. If I do not contact you in three days, make contact with the first person on the emergency list, and he will give you directions from there. Understood?"

Muffled noises came back across the channel, briefly unresolved. _"This is a little … um … unusual, Commander."_

Shepard rolled his eyes. "Has anything about this mission been usual? At all?"

A chuckle came back down the line. _"True."_

He became more serious. "Also, make this your top priority: protect Doctor T'Soni. Do not allow anyone from Intelligence to take her, and if the Council somehow gets you in a spot, make certain she has two guards at all times. If something happens to me, the knowledge in her head will be all that's left to stop Saren. Understood?"

Irritation, tempered by comprehension responded in her voice. "Got it." A pause. "I got a message to the stations, colony landline. They'll be sending a shuttle down, so hang tight."

Shepard glanced at the vines writhing across the relative 'skyline'. Other things, thicker than the flimsy tendrils, curled around the towering base, visual clones to the Thorian felled in the ExoGeni base center. But these … were larger. _Much_ larger, green cables wider than a skycar. Memories of more pollen granules launching from below the towering heights erupted through the back of his mind. "Will do so. Stay safe."

 _Weapons. Always check your weapons. But first, suit integrity. Can't fight if you can't breathe._

Systematically, Shepard ran scans on every portion of his armored anatomy, feeling a touch less urgent only when the final scan registered positive. Repairs would be needed, but the worst damage had been done to the outside thigh plate, denting the cerro-ferramic compound. Otherwise, the rugged battle armor had weathered the descent well – he'd have to come up with a way to thank the gunnery chief. Weapons appeared to be functional, but a blinking red icon alerted him to a key structural failure: pressure.

 _Warning_ : a pop-up registered in his eye-piece. _Environmental hazard code:_ _._ _Please apply patch /atmo/genius to use. Searching … searching … download unavailable. Shutting down application._

Slowly, Shepard checked _Excalibur's_ reading, finding an identical message. Digging deeper into the data, he doubted the weapon could unfold let alone fire. Apparently the pressure chamber holding the eezo core common to all weapons became briefly exposed during transition; not a problem in vacuum, 5g environments or atmospheres roughly three times a Terran Standard 760 torr. But one-and-a-half times gravity, with five atmospheres apparently tipped the balance beyond the tolerable.

 _Unless_. The old weapon, holstered where most soldiers rested shotguns came to his hand. Unlike modern weapons, this particular model didn't require moving parts – other than the essential bit involving death. Metal-encased fingers brushed over the tiny, diamond-dust plate bolted into the stock stock, running over the five letters engraved. One long scratch neatly bisected the first letter; a souvenir from a lucky slaver, whom hadn't been lucky enough.

 _'Mercy.' Yeah dad, it's a mercy alright. Wish I had Forgiveness at my side too._ He gave a silent chortle. _With Mercy and Forgiveness at my side, I need fear no evil. Just like you taught me._

The tendrils shook violently. One large strand dipped into view, descending at a snail's pace, getting larger and larger until its bulk vanished from sight in the mists below. A handful of heartbeats later, Shepard's footing shook. Dozens of massive insects shot into sight around Shepard, briefly visible before they too vanished. They'd looked like dragonflies, but larger – so much larger – than even the prehistoric fossils on Earth or a dozen settled worlds he could remember.

Calculations flickered through Shepard's mind, flying in adrenaline-induced speed. A shuttle departing from the twin stations in geosynchronous orbit needed two hours to reach the far side of the planet, a quarter of that to reach Zhu's Hope. Add some time to go down uncharted atmo … _maybe an hour. Maybe two._

The surrounding terrain – approximately ten square feet of broken stone encircled by writhing vines, didn't seem a likely position for a shuttle to engage in a rescue. Protocols suggested remaining in one position – but this was hardly a normal situation. Besides, how many people could honestly say they'd walked on the actual ground of Feros? None for millennia, if the ExoGeni reports were accurate.

"Chief," the ground looked steep, but climb-able. "I'm looking for more level ground. Keep an eye on my signal if you can, forward it to the stations if you can't. Carefully."

 _"Got – Skipper –"_ a broken response returned. _"Getti – further away. Still can hear – receiver?"_

Shepard paused, and ran a system diagnostic. Nothing had seemed wrong earlier, but it had been a check mostly for suit integrity, not focused on communication gear. A tell-tale alert blinked at him; the receiver was partially broken. "Got it Chief. Looks like I'll need to do a fixit job on the squawk-box. Can't take my helmet off now, so send text when you can; package it in a multi-packet code."

Orange type scrolled onto his visor. _"Got it, Skipper."_

He chuckled, not bothering to sign off beforehand. "Right then. Onward and upward. Or downward, as the case may be."

Climbing down the pile of organized rubble took less effort than he'd anticipated. The slightly stronger gravity felt akin to Mindoir; normal. Once someone grew up on a higher-gravity world, it never left their bones. Languages, trained observation methods – some traits remained deeply ingrained beyond mere genetics. If he recalled aright, elcor – denizens of far larger planets than humans could successfully colonize – were known to frequently comment on their increased grace on other worlds.

Shepard let go of an outcropping, reducing his mass just a touch through the advanced armor, smirking the entire descent. _Elcor, graceful? Maybe I hit my head harder than I thought?_

The ground supported his landing, but insect-like creatures scattered. He had enough time to see something like a cockroach bigger than his foot race away, barely slower than another dragonfly analogue overhead. It disappeared in the bluish-gray ferns, loose stones clicking in its wake.

Electronics hummed to life, a faint orange haze momentarily covering Shepard's visor as he snapped a quick image of the retreating form. "Vee-eye, start audio log."

He waited until the acknowledging beep responded. "Feros ground level. I'm seeing invertebrate life-forms, some plant life."

Towering piles of stone appeared in the mist, wherever he looked, vanishing into the dim skies. He kept talking. "Evidence seems to indicate prothean construction included many more towers than what's visible from orbit. Note to self: acquire orbital thermal scans. Cloud cover is minimal from one to point-five atmospheres; research condensation points in higher atmospheric conditions. Dew point unknown, external temperatures in excess of – forty degrees Centigrade?" He shook his omni-tool a moment, humanity's quintessential response to potentially malfunctioning hardware. Its readings remained steady. "Forty-point two degrees … good thing I'm wearing my armor."

Shepard pushed forwards, sweeping his recording lens in slow arcs. "Humidity is low, so at least it's a dry heat. I can't imagine what it's like when it rains though, if water gets down here."

A warning chirring growled at him from the ferns. Casually, Shepard aimed his omni-tool towards the disturbance, drawing his father's gun in a slow, non-threatening movement. "Life form. Unknown, point-five meters long."

A long, sinuous form exited the greenery, head raised. Gray and black patterns wound around each other, creating a mesmerizing effect. Under his misbelieving eyes, the colors merged, distending its shape into multiple forms. As it moved, the ferns swayed, casting shadows on the shifting surface. If it hadn't been for the head focused on him with laser-intense focus, Shepard would have mistaken the shifting pattern for the shadows.

Quick scans through the multiple spectrums revealed another surprise. "Subject has negligible thermal reading, ultraviolet is off the scale." He paused, silently laughing at the pun. "Likely cold-blooded vertebrate, predatory behavior. Withdrawing from proximity."

The snake followed, head rising even higher. Cold eyes watched him, dangerous and unfriendly.

Shepard's sidearm rose higher, tracking the creature. He watched the eyes, tracking the gemstone-like quality of their hard orbs. "Visual-based tracking, pits also visible; multiple forms?"

It reared backwards, forming an s-shaped curve. Shepard froze, watching. _Alien snake, strike posture, punctured armor will kill me_. Something glinted in the snake's eye. _Me or it; not going to be me._

 _Mercy_ barked, spitting a streak of flame that extended almost two feet. Thunder rocked his helmet, dampened by the sound baffles just in time to save his hearing. He ducked back, avoiding a splash of blood – which painted his left shoulder a deep green. Turning back, Shepard examined the highly distorted form of the serpent, which looked as if a ten foot rod had been smashed through its upper portion.

"Well …" he checked the safety on the gun of his father, holstering it carefully. "A little harder than usual. Blood pressure matches atmospheric pressure; must have hit a lung, or air bladder. Theory: gas osmosis operating at standard pressure."

Glowing script crawled across his visor. _"Liara wants you to take a closer look at the far wall. She says it's a typical prothean access point."_

Shepard winced; forgetting who watched was a rookie mistake. The system in his armor must have adapted to packaged output; hadn't there been a subsection in the manual about that? "Roger that. Proceeding to … um … 'far wall'. Shepard out."

Although masses of vines hung in the way, the expected direction was simple enough to determine. To the north – relative to planetary rotation – a dark shadow rose beyond everything. All other directions provided daylight in at least muted form, regions remaining dark gave off a less tangible glow, likely luminescent plant life. The shadow in the north blocked any hint of daylight between and around the vines. The only points of illumination visible in that direction came from vines, long, ropy bands of vegetation shimmering in otherworldly light.

Keeping a wary eye for more reptiles, Shepard continued.

Moss, thick and spongy, slowed his progress. The turf rested hip-deep in places, cut to the stonework beneath by the passage of animals. He followed one of the trails, carefully scanning ahead with as many filters his omni-tool possessed. Moving vines, gray-green in the lighting, triggered the motion sensors, until he reduced the sensitivity setting. Leafy extensions protruded everywhere, ferns like he'd seen on Mindoir – imported from Earth. Even through the helmet's rigorous filtration system, the air smelled fresh; damp soil, soaking it in after a long-needed rain.

Shepard inhaled deeply; wishful thinking. Filters didn't allow even micro-particulates through; barriers could block atomic-sized granules, like nano-technology. No one knew the dangers of nano-technology as well as he. But the scent kept coming; now crushed geraniums in flavor. Like the moss he crushed underfoot was … actually … giving ….

"Vee-eye, seal armor. Vacuum tight."

A faint buzz clicked throughout his armor. The scent gradually faded. "Note: higher air pressure can push through filters. Advise Hazard Level Three suits for exploration, maybe a Hephaestus model power armor."

Something slowly pushed itself upwards from the moss, catching his attention. A twisting bit of wood, frayed at the end, extended upwards, then hinged in his direction. While Shepard could see no eyes, he was certain the tilt resulted from no accident. "Is that …?"

A shoulder followed the stick, which clearly became an arm. More stick-like appendages thrust out of the thick moss, dragging reluctant bodies after them in a comedy of lurching parts.

"Shepard! Gt ot of tere!" text raced across his visor, hurried into almost illegible speeds.

Shepard checked the escape angles. Climbing would likely put him out of creeper range, but would also strand him in the middle of nowhere; staying put would maximize damage inflicted by both parties. But, he could always take the third option.

Closing his eyes, Shepard ran through a mental exercise, letting memories rush through his mind. Learning his fiancée had abandoned him rose to the surface, quickly followed by the discovery of a batarian slave outpost. What he'd seen inside … how enraged it made him. More thoughts boiled to the surface; the Council ordering him to marry an unknown quantity, an Alliance Intelligence assignment that had almost destroyed his career, multiple cases where he hadn't been fast enough, hard enough, strong enough – but had made everyone responsible pay.

Red haze floated in front of his eyes. _Wanted a workout anyway._ No innocents, no witnesses, the helmet cam didn't count. In a court of law, corroborating evidence needed to be given in tandem with an organic witness. For all intents and purposes, it seemed a heaven-sent opportunity. He let his eyes drift skyward, tipping his helmet back. "Thank you, Lord."

* * *

[ _Normandy_ ]

The projection shifted viewpoints, rotating the landscape to show a massive structure blocking the sky. Whispered words barely registered across the link, even for those straining to listen.

"What did he say?" Ashley, armor partially disassembled leaned forwards.

Garrus tapped his visor twice, frowning. "He said … 'thank you'?"

The female marine paused, watching the image. Its view shifted to the shuffling creepers – correction, two were charging – then down to the sidearm he'd always kept but rarely used.

Gunshots, muted through the safety filters on the display, boomed. A secondary monitor appeared; the gun-cam almost every Alliance-issue weapon carried. The image looked off; no surprise, given the weapon in question had been manufactured before the Alliance had become a reality. Its crisp images flickered, refreshing at a slower rate than the helmet device, but still caught the carnage as creepers began flying apart.

"What'd I miss?" A gravelly voice rumbled.

Garrus waved a hand, not looking up. "Wrex, guess the years are telling on you. Shepard just took down a _hanjen_ , and ran into a creeper squad."

The massive krogan ignored the insult. "Creepers eh? Fun. Shoulda gone down there with 'im."

"Nah big guy," Ashley finished stripping off the power armor. Its contacts needed polishing after exposure to the plant matter rampant throughout the Ferosian atmosphere. "We want a few towers still standing. Both of you down there? I'd start to wonder about the planet's crust."

Massive teeth gleamed in her direction. "If you were krogan, that'd be a marriage proposal."

Off to one side, Garrus inhaled his beverage.

Over the sound of his coughing, a female voice emanated from the speaker system. _"Chase here. Ex-Oh Pressley, we're being hailed. It's a turian destroyer, the_ TSFMalediction _; they claim to have a Spectre aboard to take over the rescue effort?"_

Navigator Pressley stiffened, exchanging looks with Ashley. "Do not respond. Plot a course away from them."

"Sir?"

Ashley clicked her command override into position. "Flight Officer Chase, I believe what the Ex-Oh is trying to say, is that we have suffered damage to our receivers. Repairs will need to commence, but our stealth tech makes us the best choice for hunting down geth survey ships. We're sorry for the trouble, but we need to get to work."

 _"Yes ma'am."_ The woman sounded more confident.

Pressley nodded approval. "One more thing, if they try to get close to us, veer off. Casually."

A smile was all but visible. _"Aye aye sir. Ooh, did he just hit three with one shot? Could someone bring up some popcorn?"_

Ashley groaned. Perhaps Joker was rubbing off on the crew a little too much?

* * *

 _Unknown Location, Feros_

 _Evening?_

Plant-substitute bodies fell at every stroke. The ancient depiction of the Grim Reaper's Scythe never felt so realistic to him – and it fit the situation in multiple ways.

Shepard sensed a pair of creepers charging behind him; three more surrounded his current position, buffeting him. Their wood-based weapons had no chance of penetrating his plating, but each punch held the strength of a tree behind it, bruising him at each impact. The _Nightstalker_ armor held strong, and the pulsating eezo circuits increased his mass far beyond a standard biotic's capacity.

Fast as a snake, Shepard flicked his blade upwards, imparting a synthetic Lift to add to its airtime. Pure white energy shimmered around his hands, the harsh light casting long shadows behind the creepers. Ever so slightly altering his stance, the secondary nodules came online around his feet, bringing their mass-altering focus into play. He had time for a brief thought, traitorous though it felt: _Thanks Anderson._

Both hands made contact with the ground; or more accurately, with the biotic field extending from his feet. The mismatched fields shrieked, struggling to override each other's focus – one set hit capacitor limit, losing power rapidly. Without equalizing pressure, the lesser field succumbed, triggering a biotic explosion in a concise circle around Shepard's armored boots.

 _Nova_ , asari specialists had called it. Shepard had never particularly liked using it – too loud, far too messy. But it did have its uses.

One of the capacitors in the right greave hissed as it overheated. Shepard ignored the problem; why, he couldn't exactly explain. Not when there were so many things to kill.

Through the reddish haze, he could make out the high wall. Basic _reason_ may have been irrelevant, but the baser _instincts_ still held true. _Get to the wall._

More of the creepers lunged out of the undergrowth. Unlike their surface companions, no acid seemed forthcoming. But there were more of them. Far, far more of them.

Shepard cut his way closer to the wall. At this point, he wasn't sure how many of the plant things he'd destroyed. _Not enough. Kill them. Kill them all._

A focused Warp, launched from his gauntlet caught a creeper by surprise. Artificial biotics failed to recreate the subtle nuances natural biotics could utilize. 'Settings' were the only workable adaption; allocating appropriate shades between 'debuff' and 'disintegrate.' Element Zero held too many variables; too many unknowns. The existence of armor that could produce reliable biotic fields came as a shock to multiple species – if they'd known about it.

 _Wall. Make it to the wall_. Shepard unleashed _Mercy_ in rapid-fire shots, eradicating the nearest opponents. Taking advantage of the momentary respite, he jogged towards the wall. Like a mountain it had seemed closer than reality had portrayed, but the massive stonework now appeared less than half a kilometer –

Shepard ran into a force field, strong enough to send over three hundred pounds of meat and metal rebound. The impact was enough to knock him out of the mindless rage.

 _Barrier_ , he squinted, letting the visor take a quick reading. Creaking sounds, more creepers approaching from behind, didn't bother him. Memories from the combat-haze felt muffled, but he could recall enough falling bodies to know they were no challenge to him. Other memories stirred, swelling to consciousness. _Therum, that barrier curtain. It had an activation sequence built into the field._

Hesitantly, Shepard stretched out his hand. Twisting it made the barrier shimmer, reflecting the dim lighting. Surety came to his mind; Shepard's hand flicked at the barrier in a steady rhythm. For a moment, the reflective energy field grew purely opaque, before hollowing out just in front of him.

Without pause, Shepard stepped through the opening. The barrier sealed behind him, resuming a hazy invisibility. A creeper slammed against the barrier, inhuman face motionless. It slapped the flat surface, then stood still. More of its kind walked into view, not running or charging like the creatures he'd fought far above, just walking. The patience of a plant, embodied in an avatar. Shepard took a step to the left; the unseeing faces turned with him. Another step, and the silent forms stayed facing him. More and more creepers arrived, getting as close to the barrier as possible without touching it … and all looking straight at him.

 _Attrition tactics_. Shepard realized. _Weak individuals, but they keep coming. Like those husks; what if an entire colony were converted? Just one can sap shields; send in suicide husks, follow-up with more; numbers don't matter. Every killed soldier, another husk. Direct conversion._

For one brief moment, he felt ancient tactics rolling through his mind. Entire continents paved with explosives, all just to slow down the Reapers. The immolation of cities, refusing yet more enemy soldiers from being born.

He turned the concept over in his mind. _Tactically sound, but strategically flawed. Long-term warfare can't be won by destroying your own all the time. Desperate times though …._

Turning his back on the growing horde, he started walking towards the wall. Green piles of moss grew in thicker mounds, bordering on hillocks closer to the wall, extending to the lower reaches of the wall's bottom-most stones. But between the knolls, Shepard could see a passageway opening, cleared with what looked to be high-energy output.

 _"Shepard, shuttle delayed. Atmospheric conditions turned bad, can you get higher_?" Words scrolled across his visor once more.

He sighed. "I'll try, no promises. How are things up there?"

A few seconds later, text once more crossed his screen. _"Off planet, searching for geth spotters. The turians are hailing us, but our receivers are … offline."_

Amusement lightened his heard. "Hate it when that happens. I suppose it's a weakness of some prototypes."

 _"Ha. That's what Adams said. Liara is ecstatic; you have apparently recorded enough data down there for a dozen papers on Prothean architecture. She's also really,_ really _pushing for you to keep opening doors, what with that magic thingy you keep doing."_

Shepard took one more look around. "We'll have to get some volus prospectors down here. Five atmos is a little light for 'em, but if they have breathers, they could work it out no problem. Moving onward."

The doorway loomed over him, taller than the Normandy's shuttlebay. Its surface looked pitted and worn, the first sign of age he'd seen on the Prothean ruins; other than decay from combat. Without his prompting, the doorway rolled aside; thicker than two of himself standing shoulder-to-shoulder.

Inside, lights switched on; smooth illumination showing no hint of the age exhibited by the external frame.

[ _"Enter_. _"_ ]

Shepard froze outside the doorframe, one foot half raised, senses on high alert. It would have been comical in other circumstances.

[ _"Enter_. _"_ ]

Taking caution by both hands, Shepard let one foot set down inside the structure. Should he, shouldn't he? The voice was telling him to do what he'd been going to do anyway … the alternative was remaining outside … which actually wasn't a bad idea come to think of it.

[ _"State your name and rank."_ ]

Shepard paused, and stepped inside. "I am Karl Shepard, Commander of the Alliance, Spectre for the Council, and Chief Defense Officer of the Coalition of Outer Colonies."

A heavy slam surprised him; the massive door sliding shut behind his back. Even the best of technology he'd known would have emitted a low-level hum, or a detectable electromagnetic pulse. The barrier had completely surprised him. Not good.

[ _"Enter Karl Shepard, Commander of the Alliance, Spectre for the Council, and Chief Defense Officer of the Coalition of Outer Colonies. Proceed."_ ]

The inner hall's lights ignited, sterile brilliance outlining a long path between massive walls. Energy crackled into existence, forming a mutating ovoid, which hovered in front of Shepard. The yellow light circled, rising and falling, humming a bi-tone. In-route, the orb rotated, although Shepard couldn't see any differences in the drone's surfaces. What he could tell however, was a strong pulse-scan, mapping his implants. High-grade nano-tech couldn't block the scans, but the scanners had to work to get past their interdiction. And Shepard had the best nano-technology available.

[ _"Identification: Species One-one-three-eight-termilan Eff-two. Classification: primitive. Analysis: non-standard weaponry, biological modifications. Non-Affected. Proceed."_ ]

Shepard squinted at the drone. "Species? What does that mean?"

The orb floated away, silent as the grave.

Growling to himself, Shepard turned back to the door. It opened at his touch, showing the outside once more. Before he stepped outside, he paused. Groaning, he spun in place and re-entered the Prothean structure. "This better be worth my time."

His footsteps, weighted by his armor and shod in ferro-ceramic combat boots, made enough echoes for an entire squad. Scanning the walls every few seconds kept Shepard alert; there had been tales of Prothean hatches that looked identical to unlined walls; but higher scanning resolutions could sometimes isolate variables. _Getting late. I have to get topside._

After nearly fifteen minutes of steady walking, a passageway opened to one side, relieving the claustrophobic sensation slowly growing over him. The orb floated just inside, a macabre doorman, bobbing as he passed.

[ _"Species One-one-three-eight-termilan Eff-two. Your presence is unexpected. Specify intentions."_ ]

Shepard took his time, looking over the room. Blue lighting painted the walls a bright cerulean, interspersed by pure white sconces. Pillars, narrow but long, lined the walls in a honeycomb structure, casting the spaces not occupied by the sconces in deep twilight. The floor remained the featureless, perfectly smooth surface, reflecting his image whenever he looked down; between the reflective nature and the lighting, it seemed almost to be a sanctuary in some tropical grotto.

[ _"Repeat: Species One-one-three-eight-termilan Eff-two. Designation: Karl Shepard, Commander of the Alliance, Spectre for the Council, and Chief Defense Officer of the Coalition of Outer Colonies. Specify intentions."_ ]

His jaw set; not quite all of his anger had been drained by the fight. It never was; rage stayed with him no matter where he went, no matter what he did. Keeping it under control however – that kept him sane. "Information gathering. I fell off the tower after engaging Species Thirty-Seven, and eliminating its presence from the colony Zhu's Hope. It had enslaved the colonists, requiring resolution."

A second orb blended together, forming in the far side of the room, halfway between the corners. This one spun gently, pulsing in time with its words. [ _"Processing: understood. Speaker-for-Peoples no longer responds to data requests. Clarify resolution method."_ ]

"I cut its roots and dropped it around fifteen kilometers. I suspect ExoGeni put a few explosives in place too, but that's just a guess."

The whirling orb spun faster as if alarmed. [ _"Species integration to the Knowledge must occur. Repairs will commence immediately. Return to the surface and initiate a secondary overdrive start."_ ]

Shepard snorted. "The thing's dead. I'm not bringing it back."

[ _"Error: repair units unavailable. Require external assistance. Representative species One-one-three-eight-termilan Eff-two will comply with request."_ ]

Shepard didn't bother responding. He turned his shoulder to the drone-like thing, and headed back to the exit.

[ _"Instructions for reassembly will be transmitted. Repairs to communication hub Dern-Five are priority."_ ]

"Fix it yourself. I'm not helping a slaver." Shepard's fist squeezed spasmodically. Only self-control kept him from shooting every bit of exposed technology visible … or worse.

[ _"Communication error: processed. Clarification: communication hub required for Caretaker interaction. The Knowledge must be Preserved."_ ]

Manic intensity from a machine was enough to give him pause. "These … caretakers. We call them the Protheans. They're gone, long gone. They'll never come back."

Multiple orbs spun into existence, whirling around the room. The entrance didn't move, but Shepard felt as if the distance had extended hundreds of meters; a length he could not cross in a hurry. Multi-colored spheres of light flew along the perimeter of the room, darting before the entrance and out of sight before returning in brighter colors, vanishing into the honeycomb-like structures. Still on the far side of the room, the second orb turned in place, motionless but for the constant malformed quivering. Shepard felt a sort of panic; he'd seen similar behavior when raiding swarm insect nests.

The gun of his father clicked softly, safety engaged but ready.

More lights entered the room, floating above his head. Some flashed across the ceiling, entering the alcoves and freezing in place. Others joined the mad dance, tumbling from position to position. Their tempo increased, flickering into lines of light, rebounding off the floor and walls like bursts of lighting.

Shepard polarized his faceplate. All the light, in contrast with the darkened interior, reflected off every surface. Light scoured his face, leaving his eyeballs feeling dry as dust.

Abruptly, the multicolored lights vanished, leaving only the orbs hovering within the alcoves, the far wall sphere, and the original door warden.

[ _"Karl Shepard, Commander of the Alliance, Spectre for the Council, and Chief Defense Officer of the Coalition of Outer Colonies. Statement proven correct. Data correlates with updates from Relays-Stars-With-Speed and preliminary data sent from Speaker-for-Peoples. Caretakers are now extinct. Fallback plan Ehud now active."_ ]

"Uh-huh," Shepard backed towards the doorway. "Right. Good luck with that."

[ _"Understood: permission granted. Beginning transfer."_ ] a dozen orbs shot towards Shepard, wrapping around him in a tight whirl of light.

"Wait, pause, hold on," Shepard waved an arm, brushing it through an orb with no visible effect. "What are you doing?"

[ _"Secondary data storage device required. Species One-one-three-eight-termilan Eff-two acceptable compromise. Return to your people with data. Prepare for Reaper invasion. Consensus achieved. All Below agreed."_ ]

One of the data packs in his supply belt chirped, indicating maximum data containment. Several orbs spun in ecstasy before evaporating. "Wait, the Below?"

An orb floated out of position, hovering just outside the whirling circle enveloping Shepard's form. [ _"The Below: designation for Species Zero-zero-zero-three-two. Function: data storage. Reserve information. The Below required interaction through Speaker-for-Peoples. Speaker-for-Peoples failed initial purpose. We have decided."_ ]

Shepard thought quickly. "Maybe I should speak to the others? Not just you."

The light quivered. [ _"The Below exist in fragile interactive capacity. The Burning Above traumatized processing capacity; standard operations resumed three point two seven centa-cycles following the Burning. Analogy: the Below consider the Above to be data without merit. Nightmares."_ ]

"Then let me see them, and I'll point out which one is me." Shepard swatted at a vibrant green orb that hovered next to his chestplate. Moments later, the five petabyte storage device hidden inside chirped maximum capacity.

[ _"Inadvisable. Data will accelerate technology development. Scans indicate non-significant alteration required. Minor translation errors. Data repository will remain for next cycle. Positive integer percentages for current cycle probabilities in victory Karl Shepard, Commander of the Alliance, Spectre for the Council, Chief Defense Officer of the Coalition of Outer Colonies, Representative of Species One-one-three-eight-termilan Eff-two. This concludes data exchange. Proceed to exit, honor to the ancestors."_ ]

Shepard blinked as the lights extinguished, save for the vibrant hue of the door warden. It pulsated twice, before bobbing out the door. It waited until he followed, then continued.

The entire route, Shepard walked in a daze, letting his reflexes determine where he moved, following the cheerful colors of the guiding orb. Eventually, they reached an elevator, which included benches along the side. Shepard sat on one of the benches, waiting as the doors slid shut. A faint pressure on his spine hinted at the acceleration employed; intensifying as time progressed.

He broke to the surface, still in a dazed state. "Shepard to _Normandy_ , come in please. About that shuttle, I need a pickup. It's … been a long day."

* * *

 **A/N: And so, the Great Reveal, roughly 18 chapters in the making or approximately 180,000 words. Hope you enjoyed reading as much as I enjoyed writing!**

 **Classes have kicked off, and I am now teaching and researching. Good for my employment status, bad for writing. Still, I have time now and again to spend an hour or two continuing my little Discovery Series. It's taken longer than anticipated, but what good wine isn't worth the wait?**

 **Big thanks to Nightstride for his tireless beta efforts. The fellow has helped me out for over two years now, a truly titanic achievement in the fanfiction market. Pretty big in most writer areas come to think of it, so Happy unBirthday to him!  
**  
 **Finally, Dawn of Titans has a new chapter up. Check out F13D for an epic far longer than my own, and tech development you wouldn't believe. Reading suggestion for this chapter: 'The Simple Things' by LaterHosen (story ID: 12372527). See y'all next time!**


	21. Interlude

The benefits to a ship the _Normandy's_ size, Shepard decided, exceeded the negative aspects. He ignored the technician nearby, and studied the plain, gray metal interior of his ship. Corridors were shorter and narrower than what could be found on a _Kilimanjaro_ -class dreadnought, but there were fewer people as well. Fewer hiding places, less surface area.

Small could be defined as safer in many languages, after all.

However … as he stared at the Communications Room door, he could not shake the sensation of danger. Standard privacy fields, created by the exclusive laboratories of Haim and Beckler, stopped most sounds from escaping. Further modifications available to only a high-end customer added to the room's security: nonsense vibrations, insulation properties, refraction generators and scrambling systems inlaid within a quantum-lattice pattern inside the walls of the comm room itself. He could feel the deceptive countermeasures attempting to compensate for the conversation that was occurring within – sensations he'd honed to a fine point, for dealing with biotics. Liara had entered the room over an hour earlier, just after he'd re-boarded, and hadn't been seen since.

Shepard felt a half-snarl build, then recede. Nonsense vibrations took specifically designed micro-beads, embedded in every surface. More gifted espionage practitioners could get around a privacy field with surface-level microphones, which is why he'd added the precaution. Everything else was sheer paranoia on his part; defenses against laser-reflection methods, sub-atomic spectrum analyzers – _everything._ If the rest of the ship was destroyed, the Communications room would remain.

Well, that and some of his private cabin. But very little advertised that fact. What brought him frustration, however, was how Liara had immediately left, skipped the post-operation briefing, and appeared to have no intention to converse with anyone except the interested party on the other side of the impervious doors.

An active, direct, and above all, supposedly _c_ _oincidental_ link between the _Normandy_ and a Councilor's private channel didn't improve the situation.

"Sir," the technician began. "I can override –"

Shepard held up a hand, stopping her in her tracks. Giving a sidelong glance, he noted her brown hair, brown eyes, and Second class marking. Of the limited personnel aboard, that left one candidate. "Barret, your enthusiasm is commendable, but I believe the topic is … sensitive. Best to simply wait until the doctor is ready."

The face he couldn't recognize turned to consider him. "Very good sir. What about that Spectre trying to come aboard?"

He shrugged one shoulder, lifting it in a gesture common to both Gallic and Asari dismissals. "He will board. We will talk. He will leave."

Faint tremors drew his attention back towards the door. Larger ships could suppress the physical tremors, but the _Normandy_ lacked the massive infrastructure necessary to deploy inertia dampeners for every little thing – even a cutting-edge vessel had limits. Those were exceedingly generous limits, as the _Normandy_ was a repository for superior technology, and should have at least _muffled_ a greater percentage of the noise.

Shepard closed his eyes, concentrating on the sensations vibrating through his boots. A sudden shock tickled the bottom of his foot before lapsing completely. Ten seconds later, another sharp vibration made its presence known. _There it is again; but … that can't be just walking. Stomping, perhaps. Or throwing things; but that's completely out of –_

"Shepard to Pressley," he touched an earpiece, stopping himself mid-thought. "Can you tell me which Councilor is on the channel?"

The Navigator's voice quickly responded. _"Councilor Tevos requested the call about twenty hours ago, Commander. Doctor T'Soni agreed to call the Council chambers after you got back – of course, there could be someone else using the same channel?"_

Another, sharper vibration shook the floor boards. Faint motion caught his attention, a spherical depression appearing on the double-doors – a swiftly growing depression. Hairs rose on the back of Shepard's neck at the sight.

Instinctively, Shepard stretched his hand towards the depression, watching carefully. The fine hairs covering the back of his hand rose, standing at attention as it approached the opening, answering the ancient laws governing the universe. "Biotics. Strong user, has to be Liara."

Barret glanced at his arm, body posture indicating mixed awe. "You can sense it? You have …" her skin reddened. A blind pig could have smelled the change in her thoughts. "Some kind of a – you know – bond?"

"Static electricity." Shepard lightly tapped the metal bulkhead. Stinging sensations raced across his fingertips, eliciting a startled yelp. "Ow, stung myself. Definitely Liara."

"Should we … ah … interrupt?" the technician shifted her feet, tapping them one at a time against the metal decking. "Sir?"

A satisfied smile threatened the structural integrity of Shepard's face. It felt as alien there as a krogan at an asari soiree; proclaiming forgiveness for all. The widening dent in the metal felt half as foreign by comparison, yet it didn't seem to faze the technician. "A private conversation? Between a regent, her official ward, and potentially a subject neither wishes to address? No; it would be a diplomatic incident waiting to happen. Better let them – discuss – their situation."

Another figure joined them, stepping from the shadows like a wraith. Security team pips, accompanied by the dark hair and eyes; Caswell Hudson. "Talk? It looks like they're trying to kill each other! And the Council is halfway across the galaxy!"

Shepard's smile vanished into a frown; he made an effort to hide it from his face. "Bill the Council for damages. Submit a complaint too; can't have anyone just provoking my crew now."

"Um, Councilor Tevos could be considered the most powerful asari in the galaxy," Barret ventured. Her tone indicated respectful disagreement; a sort of innocuous manner of speech all servicemen learned to use when superiors were present. In time. "I'm not sure she could be classified as 'anyone'."

His smile grew again, matching the depression's growth in the door. "Even better. Leadership from the top. Add twenty percent to the bill for damaged morale. Put in a card table with the proceeds."

Hudson laughed aloud, before slapping Shepard's back.

Shepard ignored the overly familiar action, pulling his omni-tool out for use. The reports on his private terminal had been encouraging, but needed confirmation. As he read, he felt Hudson's presence inch closer, threatening the safety in his mind. Proximity sensors in his omni-tool darkened the screen, sensing the presence of unauthorized personnel. This wasn't the first time Hudson had attempted the action. If anything, the efforts had become more and more blatant as time went on.

"Mister Hudson," he didn't move his eyes, but the man froze all the same. "Soon, I would love to have a little talk with you about personal space, and perhaps a few other things. Do not let me detain you."

Only then did he let his eyes flick to the younger man's face. Unlike his brother, he could not read the expression; but few knew that. He could however, determine the man's posture, a sudden stiffening shoulders, his raised chin. Hudson exhibited the signs of relaxed indifference, someone whom had nothing to fear, even inviting inspection. All the characteristics of an honest man.

In all his life, Shepard had met very few honest men. None of them had managed to demonstrate every 'trust me' manner of body language. Only trained espionage agents knew how to trigger the little cues mankind had developed.

"Sir, yessir." Hudson's face maintained the impenetrable recognizance Shepard had grown used to seeing. But the voice remained as calm and controlled as an arctic breeze.

Shepard watched the man's back retreat. _Baited. Now to see if he'll pull enough rope to hang himself._

His thoughts were interrupted once more as the double doors hissed open, grating to a halt upon the indentation. Metal froze in place, shrieking in an attempt to push past whatever foreign element had blocked their normal passage.

Liara stormed out of the room, blue corona enveloping her entire form. She barely looked up at either of them, and stomped her way through the side passage towards the secondary cargo area. A voice from the room's interior called after her, loud and demanding – synthesized, but effective nonetheless.

Shepard cocked his head to one side, both to witness Liara's posture, and to better hear the vocal qualities of the abandoned conversation. It felt … important. Self-important, carrying a great opinion of itself, and more than willing to demonstrate. But it also felt flustered, as if the intended target had completely missed the importance of an obvious subject. He nodded slowly; _subtlety gone bad, resorting to volume to compensate. Much like certain drill-sergeants; stature substituted for volume._

"Well," Shepard directed a half smile at the technician. "Time for a little diplomacy."

The voice grew louder as Shepard entered the chamber. Councilor Tevos's familiar form appeared on the projector. _"I said we can work things out, you don't – ah. Commander. I assume Liara sent you?"_

He gave an elegant half-sidle, copying a typical young asari Maiden's motions. Asari body language held volumes of information, every small gesture meaningful. Just how a body carried itself across the floor replaced entire conversations; an occurrence possible only with a culture accustomed to sharing thoughts in the literal sense. _Fascinating to study, better for intimidation. Or just messing with someone's head._

 _Look at me_ , he said without a word; among asari, exaggerated shoulder positions, a head flick, demanded attention, rather than elicited. His footsteps changed into a model's catwalk, one over the other, swinging the hips in a decidedly non-male human fashion. One hand twirled upwards, elaborately brushing across his waist before stopping where a sword would hang. _I am attractive, intelligent, and more than able to kill you. My patron is more powerful than yours._

The Councilor's white knuckles told him the motion hadn't been missed. Sloppy, for a half-millenia Matron level asari. "Actually, I had an important call coming in Councilor. Since it appears you are finished …."

 _"I was discussing the upcoming nuptials between –"_ the speakers popped as the connection terminated. Shepard's hand rested on the panel, conveniently close to the key.

"Oops," he raised an eyebrow for the benefit of the technician. "I must be tired. Hung up on a Councilor. Slippery hands, you know."

Barret flashed white teeth at him. "Yessir. Slippery sir. Should I send up a repair team for the doors?"

He waved her off. "Other things are more important. Get it repaired by tonight, should be a simple enough fix." The signal indicator blinked on once more, highlighting a code he'd seen only once before during the current mission. "Better get moving. Classified channel."

The technician moved so quickly he could have sworn her afterimage saluted.

 _Why would those idiots be contacting me now?_ Shepard contemplated. Out of habit he activated the trace program … then on a whim, added another secondary tracker. The trip up from Feros had left him idle, but idle hands were the Devil's workshop. Amazing how a little insight to the Prothean mind made programming … easier. _And difficult. Base twelve to base ten is a lot harder than I thought it would be._

The figure resolved itself into the same vague form it had always taken, but seated as if at a desk. Shepard didn't bother to adjust his own settings – or the venom. "Doctor Banes. I find your current need to speak with me – now above all times – highly suspicious."

Blurred arms rose, elbows resting on a platform invisible to the projector _. "We both know you are careful, Shepard. Paranoia is a way of life, and you are a master of death."_

He didn't rise to the bait. "Your man on Feros told me some very interesting things. Care to elaborate?"

 _"That would depend," the figure grew very still. "On what you wish to know. I cannot divulge –"_

"Take your sanctimonious, jingoistic, mumble-news somewhere the Classics never go." Shepard interrupted. Anger felt more difficult to simulate, after a rousing fight with the creepers. "Why do you want my genes?"

Faint sounds of a creaking chair came over the speakers. _"I am afraid I do not understand."_

Shepard made a show out of flicking his omni-tool into the active posture. "It's something I've discovered over the years. Confirmed by anonymous sources of course; poor Jeong was simply the latest in a long line of hints. Unnecessary blood tests. Phishing messages requesting genetic template donations, an order of magnitude above other soldiers –"

 _"You are an Alliance soldier, with all the modifications therein, and a wealthy one as well,"_ arms folded, an expression of rejection. _"And you somehow believe we are responsible for such things?"_

A vicious grin, reminiscent of a batarian warlord came to Shepard's face. "Records show me as an Ultra-violet target for re-processing. Only four men and two women have been given a rating that high since the Alliance was founded, over fifty years ago. The same center has continually requested my cooperation for 'designing the next generation of soldier.' Your boy on Feros told me his superiors wanted my DNA, and that my father failed them."

The figure froze, staring at him, then relaxed, nodding sadly. _"Alas, that is true. Your father was a very good man, a great one in fact. But he lacked commitment. You on the other hand,"_ the arms came out onto the desk, fingers interlacing. _"Have that commitment in spades, greater than nearly every other soldier in the Alliance."_

"Feros was an experiment." Shepard abruptly changed the subject. "The Thorian became a test subject, the colonists even more so. That wasn't in their contract; I reviewed it beforehand. And made copies."

 _"Purely not our fault,"_ the man answered smoothly. The shoulders shifted, mocking. _"You know we wouldn't incriminate ourselves in such a way. We taught you everything you know."_

The figure's sudden honesty elevated Shepard's suspicions. Earlier conversations had involved complex concepts, subtle discussions that neither revealed nor concealed the most important information. Bare minimums had been conveyed, but never enough to satisfy, never enough to convince. Honesty – although a possible tactic for sowing confusion – rarely involved itself with men such as this.

"You want something. Again. The answer is no."

 _"Confusion has to be rampant,"_ the blue figure shifted his tones, becoming more soothing. _"The Beacon gave you an incredible amount of information. Yet, you live, and maintain your sanity against all odds. If you would –"_

"No." Shepard folded his arms carefully. "I will offer you a trade: a question for a question. An answer for an answer. I will permit a question, so long as you allow one of similar magnitude, with a similar answer."

The man stared at him through the link. Lack of movement convinced Shepard the signal had been cut – until the image blurred, returning to life. Paused broadcast – a clever trick. _"Agreed, provided I ask first."_

"Denied. Every answer you give me, grants you another question. I will go first."

Fury filled the other man's body posture, but faded. He made a sound of frustration, but settled. _"Very well. Ask your question."_

"What has Armistan Banes done for you?"

A hissing sound, like a surprised cobra, emanated hidden speakers. _"A bold question. But not so bold as it could have been, I deem? Never mind. Mister Banes was a financial provider for us. He is gone, sadly."_

"The man is gone," Shepard echoed quietly. "And his birth records were strangely destroyed in something the insurance company held as an 'act of God' … completely coincidence as well. Like Admiral Kahoku's death."

" _A pity."_ Blurred light shifted into focus, then out once more. _"But I believe it is my turn? The Beacon allegedly gave you knowledge of the Protheans. On Feros, you apparently gained more. How much do you know, exactly, of the Protheans?"_

Shepard inhaled a slow breath, letting it sit in his chest for a moment until letting it out again. "Yes, it is your turn, but that was your question." He smirked internally, careful to not let the emotion slip. "My turn. Do you know where the Mindoir colonists, the ones kidnapped by Batarian slavers nearly fifteen years ago, are located?"

" _You should have been a lawyer."_ Unidentifiable features collapsed, rising in strange patterns. _"I do not personally …_ we _may know of one … for certain, at any rate. My turn. Once more: how much do you know of the Protheans?"_

Shepard didn't have to think. "I know more than any human, turian, salarian or asari does. Tactics. Locations. Histories. My turn."

The figure extended a hand, inviting.

"Where is the one Mindoir colonist located?"

" _I believe she is on the Citadel, under the tutelage of a trader in the Foundation, I believe. I could arrange a rescue mission, if you so desired."_

"No," Shepard's perfect, white teeth reflected the cyan hue of the projection. He'd been forced to regenerate them multiple times, yet each time it had been a worthwhile investment. The data he'd sought so long, at least one more, in his own hands. He had to get through the week, return to the Citadel. There were dozens of details, hundreds of informants. _No one_ would hide her from him, and live. "I believe I should be going now."

A brief moment of indecision crossed the other man's posture; desire obstructed by something more ... but indecipherable. _"Of course. Perhaps another time."_

Shepard cut the signal, glancing at the trace as the projector whined down. His eyes widened; for the first time, an actual location registered on the program. A place he'd visited once in fact, years earlier. A relay like so many others? Or an actual broadcast station?

Optimism filled his mind once again. Two leads, the best he'd ever obtained in years, arriving just when he had the power, connections, and resources to follow!

Shepard turned, poised to bark out commands, when the communication link hummed to life again, blinking the presence of a new request. This time from the flagship of the Fifth Fleet. After a moment's silent struggle, Shepard granted it permission.

Admiral Hackett's familiar appearance fuzzed into view. As always, the man wore an Alliance uniform as if it were a recruitment display, just enough creases to betray the fact that he did, indeed, obey the same laws as mortals. But the professional grace normally evident in his motions was nowhere to be seen. The admiral clicked fingers against a haptic interface, sending a visual replication of a message Shepard recognized as his own.

 _"You let an asari examine prothean technology; functioning prothean technology I must emphasize, and now you want me to give her consultant status? To visit Mars?"_ Hackett exhaled, fury in his motions. Shepard had to admire how his superior kept the emotion from his voice – even if it escaped through his body. _"I couldn't do anything about the T'Soni engagement mess. But you've allowed her access to every archive on the Normandy, given her access to the few functioning archives in Alliance space. Now Feros? Give me one good reason why I shouldn't have you on treason charges, Commander."_

Shepard stood tall, arms folded across his chest. It was an old trick, indicating a refusal to accept what the other party said; a more submissive stance would have had him grasp wrists behind the small of his back, but not today. "Respectfully, Sir, I have a dozen. First, Doctor T'Soni is one of the foremost minds in the study of the Protheans. At this point in time, she has amassed more knowledge than any two human experts you could name."

Naming himself wasn't an option at this point; he was no expert, just a soldier with a little more gray matter than most. Maybe a _lot_ more … but the principle remained the same.

"Second," Shepard lowered his arms, only to wave at a nonexistent individual to his left. "Doctor T'Soni is an asari, as you pointed out. She will live for centuries studying the Protheans and their technology. In one century, she will have more knowledge in her mind than any two universities, concerning that. And," he dared looking the projection straight in the eye, "she will bear a grudge if barred from Mars. Asari portray themselves as a cultured race, egalitarian and patient, but you and I both know they can hold a grudge unmatched by anyone except a krogan. Even then it's a tossup; asari have more patience than many krogan."

The image of the Admiral shifted, betraying slight nervousness. _"And what of your … status? Are you certain your own emotions are not affecting this?"_

Shepard snarled, a guttural sound he'd found himself imitating from the turian practice fights. The blue image jumped. "Apologies; that was uncalled for. No, I do not believe my mental faculties are in question. What I _do_ believe is that we need allies, and we will need them soon, _and_ in high levels of Council government. Liara is the heiress of a powerful asari faction, and allowing her access will show the Council we are willing to play ball with them. If she abuses this privilege, her access could be revoked, but I would be extremely careful about doing that. Have you heard the phrase: 'Indian Giver'?"

Hackett's image paced a step to one side, returning to the original point before facing Shepard once more. Hands clenched, but relaxed in a defeated sigh. _"As always, you make good points. It's too late to try hiding anything on Feros from the Council … even if ExoGeni wasn't so foolish. I trust you are taking measures to ensure compliance?"_

This time a vicious smile curved Shepard's lip. "I'm doing far more than that. After Jeong's attack, I contacted my attorneys through a secure link. They have orders that will exceed anything the Alliance can do … and legally as well. I would ask you leave their fate in my hands."

The blue image pondered for a few seconds before nodding. _"Again, good points. You have a capacity for reaching them that we do not, damn intervention laws. By the time bureaucracy cut through the red tape, there'd be nothing left of the colony. Unless I missed my guess?"_

"Nossir," Shepard clenched a fist, imagining it around the throat of the party responsible. He didn't have a name, but felt it appropriate all the same. "This is in my report as well, but ExoGeni was shipping Thorian samples to multiple test sites outside Alliance jurisdiction, including a group called Cerberus. As soon as my business on the Citadel is complete, the _Normandy_ will be proceeding in that direction."

 _"Good. Keep your powder dry_." Hackett responded. He hesitated, _"I'll go along with this on Doctor T'Soni. But watch your back, Shepard. The lack of progress with the asari is making you enemies, but not very public ones."_

"Let them come," he growled back. "So long as I can last out the year, they're welcome to try anything they want."

The blue projected head swiveled in his direction, snapping forward with the speed of a striking snake. _"A year? Shepard, are you planning something?"_

Wincing, Shepard mentally slapped himself. Now whom was becoming sloppy? "In a way … this mission, it is more dangerous than almost any other job I've been on, and I'm including the stuff off the books. Saren has the resources of a full-fledged asari Matriarch, and the entire capabilities of the geth. He's tried to kill me multiple times now, I'm sure of it. Jeong claimed to be working for Intelligence, but the last trace Intel had on Jeong vanished on Feros, after the Saren visited three weeks ago. If Saren managed to sway that man while he was in Intelligence, I'm dreading what will happen on Noveria. If something goes wrong, I'll be dead inside eight months, less if I'm unlucky. If I do manage to survive … I'm heavily considering of retiring."

Silence filled the link for a full minute before the admiral on the far side moved. _"I'd be lying if I said I approve … but you've done more for the Alliance than almost any other man. What will you do?"_

He shrugged, looking down at the floor. "Do a little more searching. One of my contacts fed me a lead on one of the Mindoir victims, out in the Brasila district. They have pretty loose restrictions on labor forces, but aren't anywhere near my neck of the woods. There are just three more, sir. Three."

Left silent was the apparent former colonist on the Citadel. But what the Admiral didn't know, wouldn't need to be regulated.

Hackett sighed, bringing a hand up to his face. _"I know Shepard … but perhaps Anderson can talk you into better sense."_

Shepard refused to answer, focusing at a point over the projections left shoulder.

His silence was not missed. _"You are planning to talk with Captain Anderson first, aren't you?"_

"I have no intention to disseminate critical long-term data, Admiral." Shepard maintained an impassive expression, but felt he must have betrayed his emotions on some level, based on Hackett's falling shoulders.

 _"Shepard … Anderson was sworn to secrecy. If anything had gotten out, unsecure channels, espionage, there could have been enough blowback to turn the galaxy into one big war zone."_

A growl fought its way out of Shepard's throat. "And yet, with the Reapers coming, that's exactly what is about to happen. How did that work out for you?"

Warning filled Hackett's voice. _"Commander …."_

Shepard's arms rose, folding themselves once more, refusing to back down. "I don't trust people often, Admiral. When that trust is broken … I take it personally."

The older man sighed deeply. _"I don't blame you. Not much, anyway. But you can't let revenge rule your life; it will hurt you the most in the long run. Anderson pulled every trick in the trade to get out of it, but you know he won't break his word, once given."_

"Then he shouldn't have given his word." Shepard retorted.

 _"He had no choice!"_

Shepard felt his back drop; fighting felt pointless. "Aye, that's where we disagree, Admiral. There's always a choice. Maybe not a good one, maybe not an easy one. But there has never been a situation where only one option is truly available. Those asari Intelligence, the Furies, they remove free will; they will pay for that. I'll _make_ them pay."

Hackett's body language became alarmed. _"Exactly how many people are going to suffer your wrath, Shepard?"_

A small grin escaped Shepard's control; he couldn't help it. Nearly two decades of planning, eliding Alliance psychiatrists, the best mental analysts the galaxy had to offer – and now the goal was almost complete. "Don't know yet, Admiral, but from the Hegemony to the Alliance, to Asari Intelligence. It depends on how far up the chain this goes. I believe Alliance comm systems are tapped, and I'm not telling SAIS what I've got planned."

Hackett's form grew still _. "Infiltrators?"_

"Maybe. Don't really care. _Normandy_ is secure, I've triple checked now. All the fail safes check out." Shepard shrugged, a practiced casual motion. Whatever his actual feelings were, betraying them to unknown viewers held primary position as bad idea. "For SAIS, I know who they are, and they know I know. We'll spend a few days dancing around each other, they'll try something desperately stupid, and I'll … eliminate them."

A growl made its way across the link. " _Good. You have my full support."_

Shepard froze. "Admiral?"

The elder man leaned forwards, both hands resting just beyond the projectors' limitation. _"I said: you have my full support. I told Intelligence to keep their hands off this mission; they knew it, and now you know it."_

Slowly, Shepard's hand rose in a respectful salute. "Aye sir. Thank you."

[break]

Once more Shepard turned his steps back towards the primary cargo bay. The fact that it doubled as a miniature hanger did nothing to alter its designation, unfortunately. Traffic increased as he approached the lower level, marines taking on their secondary roles, crew accomplishing the myriad of tasks required. A ship, like any complex machine, needed maintenance. Unlike organic bodies, machines and sentience was required.

The quick-time steps of a marine fell on the deck plating. He turned slightly, to catch William's familiar height approach. The woman stepped closer, speaking in a quiet tone. "Williams, sir." She stepped back, talking in a louder voice. "Headed down to greet our guest?"

Shepard felt a smile curl at the side of his mouth. For once, he let it. "Indeed. You don't need to announce yourself, you know."

Teeth glinted before fading from sight. "Aye sir. I'll keep it in mind."

Chattering sounds, people discussing banal matters reached his ears next, then vanished, doors closing. He strode to the larger frame, squaring himself, ready for yet another metaphorical battle. The twin-set doors hissed open before him, releasing a gust of oil-stained air, and the racket of machines. Casually, he waved down the salutes popping out of the crowd, returning them when necessary. Thankfully, the crew maneuvering heavy equipment had the sense to keep their hands on task.

"Ah, you must be Commander – pardon – _Spectre_ Shepard." A high-pitched voice cut through the noise.

Shepard tracked it to its source, a tall, heavily armed salarian. In contrast to the armaments, the armor was so light as to be nonexistent. Flexible mesh, tinted the same hue as standard Spectre gear, covered not just joints but the entire thoracic cavity. Smaller mesh, tiny chains woven into intricate patterns he recognized as clan markings, covered the weaker abdominal region. The minor shifts in their movements however, bespoke of hardened plates beneath the seemingly flimsy protection.

"Charmed." Shepard let his evaluation take in the rest of the room's dynamics. The salarian had approached from the wall opposite of the shuttle dock; a place out of the way, yet in position to observe the entire hanger bay. Predator instincts appeared intact. Belatedly, he held out an open hand, data stream racing across his eyepiece. "And you are Spectre Guerrier. Good work on Illium; there was a definite conflict of interest with Dalatress Lathamar's securities. The loophole you found made a definite impact across entire systems."

Large, intelligent eyes studied him carefully. "Indeed. I noticed Mindoir-based holdings increased by nearly twelve percent that quarter. Very astutely observed."

Against his will, Shepard found himself liking the salarian, and feeling suspicious at the same time. "You are kind. But enough with the polite chatter: why are you here?"

The salarian shifted, legs twitching. "Saren, of course. I know his patterns. Studied under him for two years. My knowledge encompasses Saren's practices, although I do not believe he shared everything with me."

"Good." Shepard glared at the clock, and checked the calculator on his omni-tool's projection. "But, what can you do for me here?"

Guerrier cocked his head to one side, canting it forwards, chin back. "On your vessel? I am a Spectre; my skills are considered exemplary, even to elite members of Salarian Task Groups. I am proficient in software, armed and unarmed combat, and …" his pupils shrank a minute quantity, focused on Shepard's own. "I am well-versed in Council politics."

Shepard paused, then shook his head. "I have the best soldiers in the galaxy on this ship: Alliance marines; I'd take on armies with them. My squad could take on a planet by themselves. The only benefit you'd bring directly is your knowledge of politics … and I have contacts that can give me the same benefit. What I want is for you to join my task force, and destroy Saren's financial empire. That's the best asset you can give me."

He could sense a heightened pride around him. Marines knew flattery when they heard it, but they also knew honest pride – the latter seemed to spark something in them.

 _Caesar had his Tenth Legion … I have my Marines. What does that make my squad, the Fulminatas?_ Shepard pretended to ignore the shift. Even Williams, daughter of a highly respected general, seemed to be falling sway to his words.

"Very well." The salarian twirled his tri-dactyl hand, twisting a strange salute out of it. An off-branch portion of Shepard's memory identified it as an obscure order's recognition, a society devoted to murky knowledge. "You are the field commander; I will go where you believe my skills will be best utilized."

 _A Spectre, accepting suggestions?_ Shepard almost waited too long before returning the salute. Guerrier's eyes glowed. _How typical though; a salarian using knowledge to hurt his foes. Wasn't the Silent Step supposed to be a founding member of that group? Lux Obscuris or whatever it translates too?_

He faded back as the salarian retreated to the alien shuttle. Mentally, he checked his inventory, physical and otherwise. _Weapons, check. Need to restock toxins, need that nano-tech package from Kaidan when he gets back – should check on him._

It really had been too long since Kaidan had made a progress report – but supra-lightspeed travel did not permit communication.

 _Udina's up to something, but that can wait for now. If I can get Saren's empire to topple, that should cause enough chaos to cover a lot of things – or uncover just as much._ A slow, tooth-filled grin struggled its way across Shepard's face. _It's not the end of the tunnel, but I can see the light. Finally._

"Shepard." A flanged voice broke in on his concentration. "You sure about sending a Spectre off like that?"

Shepard turned his smile on Garrus. The turian's mandibles flipped upwards in response. "Yeah. Authority isn't an issue, not for me. Besides, I think …" he studied the open stars, now visible through the magnetic containment field at the end of the hold. "I think things are going to be getting fun."

The turian gave a small mock-groan. "Wrex will be pleased."

* * *

 **A/N:** **Greetings and Salutations! A short chapter, but a good pivot point. The middle juncture, where the entire story begins picking up speed towards the end.**

 **But, you deserve an explanation for the long wait: I've been hectically working on my graduate degree, which essentially means more time hitting the books and working at the lab. As a Biology grad student, I'm specializing in Molecular Biology - which is frankly one of the most difficult things I've done, and that includes violin. At any rate, while the PCR is cooking, and the books lose their necessity for a short time, I'll be writing. Not sure when the next chapter will be out, but I will finish this story or die trying. ME2 and ME3 still need to come out after all, no?**

 **Special thanks to Nightstride, the faithful beta that has put up with my slowly-improving style for over three years now. Also, thank you reviewers, especially Guest Jotun. I read your review, and was inspired to set up this last scene. In the last chapter, 1138 was _definitely_ a nod to George Lucas, great catch!**

 **Yeah. Reviews do that much for my contemplation. I've even started three other stories; but won't publish them until I've gotten a lot closer to finishing them. Thank you all for your support. Hope you liked this chapter!**

 **Chuck**


	22. Turning Point

_Christmas is a special time of year, no matter where your path has taken you. My little home away from home always feels more cheerful, brighter than normal at this time of year. Even when a certain quarian decides to color-code my desk in festive hues._

 _For Shepard, there were one or two bright spots in his earlier campaigns. And later campaigns. One occurred during his hunt for Saren ... in the middle of what accountants would later call many things. Financial markets measure many things, but that incident is one of the points all reference from time to time. But that's something that comes up later. I am a tease, aren't I?_

 _Notes from Dr. Pavenmeyer's logs_

 _~Project Ragnarök Files_

* * *

 _Captain's Cabin: SR-1 Normandy_

A final series crossed Shepard's data pad. Results from more teams than a normal man could count floated in and out of view, the coded sequences visible solely through the matched pair of visor and omni-tool. Hundreds of competitors, possibly thousands, desired his security capacity. No less than three Matriarchs had sent their swallows, attempting to roost in his cabin for that very purpose – none succeeded.

 _Some things, money can't buy._ Shepard mused. The single greatest advantage to most research organizations was secrecy – a single product could fund entire colonies, or break strangleholds on economies. In this case, the visual cues combined with nano-technology created the safest communication systems in existence.

 _Now it all pays off. Saren, you're going down you son of a kowakian monkey-lizard. (1) I've fought your machines, now let's see how many fronts you can hold._

"Joker, Pressley," he tapped the open-key, addressing both men at once. "Alter course: fastest course you can get to Irune. Wait … belay that … what is the ETA from the Citadel to Irune?"

A faint mutter of conversation broke the silence for a moment. _"Thirty hours from the Citadel, Commander."_

Joker's voice snapped into play. _"I can make it in twenty-four, maybe twenty if we pull out clearance."_

Disbelief colored the older Navigator's voice. _"Average times for frigates of our velocity indicate –"_

 _"'Other frigates'?"_ Joker fired back, making the speakers vibrate. Shepard twisted his head, the invisible participant in this verbal ping-pong match. _"We're a class of our own! I know my baby, we can do it in twenty."_

A moment of silence held sway over the communication system for a moment. Then Pressley spoke up. _"Umm, sir. Our pilot believes it can be done in twenty. I have no reason to doubt him, as of yet."_

Shepard held back a chuckle; no sense letting everything about his reputation go to naught. "Make it so. As soon as we leave the Citadel, consider a full Emergency speed run. Thirty hours or less."

Hurrying now, for time was becoming more and more valuable, Shepard sent a summons to what the rest of the ship was beginning to call his Squad. None of the word choice had changed, but the feel within that term denoted something new … emotion. Before, it simply carried the normal meaning: combat troops engaged in warfare. Sometimes, it even meant friends. But now?

 _Shepard's Squad_ , it almost carried the name as a badge, as if it meant something bigger than words. The marines themselves were operating at higher efficiency as well … and calling themselves _his_ Marines. _Shepard's_ Marines.

 _When did that happen?_ Shepard sent a follow-up message. _When did they start actually_ liking _me? Respect? Soldiers are soldiers, but now …._

Shaking the mysteries of leadership aside for the moment, he began moving things in his cabin. Some hasty work with his well-exercised muscles, and enough room opened itself for the full group – minus Kaiden. _Blast that man, where is he? I should have heard back ages ago. Did I send too many men? Too few? A simple pick-up though … quarians do that no trouble, even in the Outer Colonies._

The thought parked itself firmly in his subconscious, while he focused on the matter at hand. Namely, creating the magnum opus of his career.

* * *

Shepard drew a line, passing it between the different names. On any other list, it would have qualified as some of the most eclectic groupings ever seen. Asari Matriarchs shared columns with batarian colonels, linked diagonally to business holdings and human diplomats. Several Hanar face-names, what the jellyfish-like people used for business practices, formed a border on the peripheral edge.

He took a breath, adding dates. Then the organizations feared and respected across the galaxy began to appear, creating another layer in the tertiary wall-screens; the BlackWatch, Salarian Tasks Group, and that small but powerful pro-human group called Cerberus. Moving the projection gave more space to use, and he filled it with more numbers. Population shifts and stock-market patterns stacked in swiftly rising columns, orbiting his projections like planetoids. Finally, he rounded out the collection with a timeline reference, inserting an entirely different table, filling in the spaces with more data.

When he'd finished, Shepard tapped off the digital marker and returned the screen to the initial point. Clearing his throat, he focused on the people now sitting around the room. The entire squad was present, even those injured from the experience on Feros. Every one of them had earned a place, or had at least been tough enough to endure being with him for weeks at a time. But, they were each involved, and deserved a chance to understand what he was about to do.

"Nearly fifteen years ago, I started a new career: soldier and businessman. Ten years ago," he lowered his head slightly, "I became aware of a few inconsistencies. Markets that fell against demand, or rose when new elements entered the field. By themselves, it was nothing … but I have a somewhat unique view on the galaxy."

He tapped the pointer. "Human businesses have followed similar patterns since the first Stock Exchange, back in the seventeenth century. There is plenty of data to study, to use for comparison. Entering the galactic stage, the pattern continues, even after First Contact." The view changed again. "But here, there are changes. Binary Helix and Genex Chemical started matching patterns with Alko-Luminal. Their synchronism fades after six months, but reappears fifteen years later, and again another decade after that. Sirta Foundation has kept its own pattern, as has Cord-Hislop. But, Cord-Hislop has an interesting outreach program in the Terminus Systems, a formidable reputation for violence."

Shepard paused to take a breath. "I have spent the past ten years correlating data. Watching the patterns. Every time the batarians launches a major slave raid, Hegemony State Arms reports a higher profit margin. Elysium, in what is currently known as the Skyllian Verge, saw record numbers eight months prior to the event – followed by a drop greater than anything seen since the Hegemony left the Council."

The numbers faded, replaced by names. "Among the numbers I've found names. Major business owners appear with almost pathetic regularity, Nassana Dantius for one. A year before the Blitz occurred, she purchased a large amount of stock in HSA, and sold it just prior to the Blitz. She's also been remarkably prescient in business management on …" he hesitated on the term. "Troubled markets. As an example, her activity in certain colony infrastructure ends, shortly before they are raided."

Garrus snarled from the side of his mouth, under his breath. "Sounds like a lovely lady. Maybe you could put us in touch with her?"

"I could," Shepard agreed. "But then, that would be fairly useless. However, I do happen to know a sister of hers – one Dahlia Dantius – kidnapped by pirates." He let a little smile break across his face. "Miss Nassana has been gracious enough to request my assistance in clearing up the matter. From one businessman and diplomat to another. But … that's not all we have planned."

Wrex chuckled at the back of the room. "You have a plan."

"Indeed." Shepard flashed the krogan a conspirator's smirk. "You may recall we had a guest in the detention facility on the _Normandy_ , roughly three weeks ago. That individual seemed to practice a unique form of brainwashing, one that I have since learned to be called Domination." He was very careful to not look at Liara. "Simply put, the biotic imposes her will on the subject, and compels him or her to perform simple actions. It's answered – quite a few questions, actually."

"That could be … a problem." Garrus disagreed, tone now somber. "We've seen what the Thorian can do with just pain and a few suggestions. What could a more sophisticated form do?"

"Excellent question!" Shepard made the screen change once more, shifting to what appeared to be a list of names and dates. "The answer is: quite a bit. Here, you can see names of people that were formerly in employed by Alliance-held companies. First on the list is Micah Black, founder and CEO of the Micah Black clothing line. Born in 2142, died 2171, just before a meeting that opened the company to external purchase. If he had been alive for the meeting, it is probable that the company would have remained privately held. Death was ruled a suicide; he jumped out of a window one hundred and thirty stories high."

The image on the screen shifted, changing to another man with dark hair and broad smile. "This was Roger Luis, the ExoGeni investment manager for the research arm, Stellar Solutions. Born 2153, died 2179. While normally a xenophobic, Mister Luis changed his mind and accorded a salarian satellite company full investors rights in 2179, with a simple typed message. Two days later, he was discovered in a coma in his bathtub. He nearly died of hypothermia, but managed to live – as a vegetable."

Shepard ignored the sound of a small pile falling, cases he'd stashed under the far wall. A faint gasp from a large set of lungs caught his attention for a moment, but wasn't repeated, leaving him free to concentrate.

"This woman," the projection changed yet again to an older woman, graying hair framing a pair of stern dark eyes. "Oversaw the trade routes into and out of the Verge. Mariah Solzenizhen; born 2131, died 2162. Her paranoia about alien influences hindered Council trading practices through Alliance space for two decades. On the other hand, her investments for long-term growth are just beginning to pay off, the profits of which are being processed for her grandchildren, including three planned trips to theme parks on four separate planets. She was found dead in her home of self-inflicted injuries, facing a crucifix. She was Catholic."

Ashley gasped. "Wait, all that with her kids, and she was Catholic? One of those asari forced her to kill herself?"

"It's never that simple, but in this case, exactly." Shepard flipped the pointer in a tiny display of happiness. "It sounds like a conspiracy theory worthy of some sad fiction aficionado … but then again, we are chasing a rogue Spectre, bringing the might of an AI race, and their master, upon us. Truth is stranger than fiction."

A heavy stare pushed at the back of his neck. Turning, he met Wrex's eyes, glaring at him. It somehow looked much colder than before, startling in its intensity. Shepard did his best to look back. "Yes, Wrex?"

The krogan turned his head deliberately, focusing on one of the cases uncovered in the shift to make room. An old, battered set of armor rested on its surface, tarnished by age, dented under the passage of arms at some point. "That armor. Where'd you get it?"

"That?" Shepard frowned, puzzled by his friend's attitude. What was even more confusing was how he'd somehow interpreted the krogan to be a friend, instead of a simple comrade, or hireling; the distinction bothered him. "That came from a turian weapons smuggler. Thought himself some kind of collector; didn't even bother to restore it. When I have time, I'm planning to repair it, maybe upgrade it somehow. It's krogan design, built to last."

"I know." Wrex turned one eye back on Shepard, the crimson orb gleaming. "It's one of the Urdnot clan, specialty make, Fifteen-hundreds _Fortify_ line. Over a thousand years old."

That made Shepard's eyebrows go upwards. "Back in the Rebellions or whatever the asari call them? Whoever made it did good work. Do you know the manufacturer?"

A faint grin appeared on the old krogan's face. "You could say that. He was my grandfather."

Pieces clicked into place; the changed attitude, the behavior. Shepard studied the armor plate, and felt an idea drift into his mind. "Then it should go back to you. I could restore it, but given what's going on now …" he shook his head. "Take it. Maybe you can fix it better than I could."

Red eyes studied him. Then the massive form rose, stomping over spilled hardware to reach the ancient bit of history. Something flickered, deep inside the old krogan's eyes. "Can't believe my ancestors used to wear this piece of crap. Still, I know a few people. Might be able to put it right." The Wrex's eyes cut back. "Thanks, Shepard. You didn't have to do that. Won't forget it."

The krogan's stance had shifted yet again, at least to Shepard's practiced eye. Before Wrex had maintained a relaxed, alert posture; never quite to the point of outright deference, but equally lacking in the sort of pride most people exhibited from time to time. Now that he thought about it, the only times he'd noticed Wrex carrying himself so highly was during combat, fighting against a strong enemy. While holding the piece of his past however, Wrex seemed to be carrying himself higher, shoulders relaxed into confident arrogance. For some reason, it almost looked like what the ancient Asari texts depicted as ' _vasilikó vlémma_ ,' the 'royal gaze'.

Why that sprang to mind he had no clue.

* * *

The information dropped on his squad took hours to fully converse; the sheer magnitude would require weeks, if not months – yet that time did not exist. Despite such a drawback, the insight of a trained turian investigator combined with the experience of a suddenly-helpful krogan, and a paranoid human Marine, created many potential tangents. When Tali appeared, summoned from the depths of the engine room, her esoteric knowledge of the edges of space quickly lead to further flights of conjecture, backed by enough solid data to formulate the basics of new plans.

 _Truly it was written,_ Shepard absently played with a salarian punch-dagger, watching Liara debating with Ashley. _In many counselors, there is wisdom._

Hundreds of new data points held the majority of his screens hostage. Wrex and Liara had proven extremely helpful in that regard, providing background information he'd never been able to acquire himself; benefits of being plugged directly into a social network spanning the entire galaxy or living half a millennia as a premier mercenary.

His gaze shifted to the turian detective. Contrary to stereotypes, Garrus had ignored the potential legal issues. The alien's attention to detail had been downright frightening, the level of focus applied as if he were trying to memorize everything.

A conversation about protocols, moral rectitude, seemed imminent. Most turians needed that kind of exchange, assurance that what they were doing benefited the squad. Cultural upbringing – Saren appeared to be one of the rare exceptions.

Despite that potential setback, Shepard felt a small sense of satisfaction as he watched the group interact. While Williams was by no means a Terra Firma member, her worldview tended to distrust nonhumans. Most humans held that viewpoint, especially after Shanxi and the batarian raids. Aliens held the same view about humans, more so after learning about _Kar'Shan's_ damages in the retaliation raid; full coverage had been restored, but social repercussions still reverberated in Hegemony society. Yet here they were, five separate species, working together.

"We'll be arriving at the Citadel within the hour," he hesitated to break up the planning session, but pushed on; there would be time later. "I'm authorizing shore leave for the next two days. If you have friends, a little job to do or anything," he specifically did not look at Wrex. "This is the time to take care of them."

The group dispersed, leaving his cabin in peace. Other than the mess.

Sighing, Shepard began putting his things back in order, starting with a small box of tox-darts. Behind him, someone cleared her throat.

"Shepard, sorry to bother you …."

He jumped, hadn't everyone left? _Dark hair, dark eyes. Tanned skin, chief emblem_ …. "Ash?"

Teeth shone at him. "Yessir. Uh, I just wanted to let you know I deleted that override code you gave me back on Feros. I'll forget the rest soon enough."

 _Code?_ Shepard cast his memory back. _Oh,_ code _. That code._

Intense logic trains churned through his mind. But the decision had been made. A drawer in the side of the bed rasped slightly under his physical demand, disgorging a small shot locker's worth of omni-tools. Small rows of the devices extended themselves, inviting selection. Shepard ran his finger down a column, pulling out a smaller unit. "Here."

The woman cocked her head sideways. "What?"

He extended his arm, holding out the device. "This is a specialty-order omni-tool. A little under-par for civilian applications, but it is second to none for security. I order them in bulk, own the division that makes them."

What Shepard refrained from mentioning was exactly how much of the rest of the company he owned as well. Security depended on so much more than just the device; the minds behind its manufacture, the people in the factory, everyone could be a risk. The safest method would have been to make the device himself, and write the programming, but no one alive was able to master each technique, and perform to the extent his goals required.

Ashley took the device, turning it over in her hands. "You're giving this to me? Why?"

The drawer slid shut, clicking as the multiple lock sequence secured itself. Shepard used the time to think, why had he done it? The reasons were multiple, myriad even, but the simplest way to put it felt wrong … but also right at the same time. He closed his eyes, rubbing gently at his forehead. "I trust you. If something happens to me, I know you will do right by me."

Brushing off the sentiment, he nodded at the door. Better check your gear. Not sure the Citadel will be the safest place, after all."

* * *

Shepard assumed the Citadel's appearance made its normal presence known; gawking from windows took time he didn't have. Space stations, monolithic or otherwise, tended to stay put – it would be there in case he felt the urge. The _Normandy_ approached under full stealth, under his order. A dangerous step, but well in keeping with the somewhat spotty reputation of Spectre behavior; or at least on the surface. Certainly well within _his_ reputation. Complications – which meant his hands required an occupation that the mind could process.

 _"Um, Commander?"_ Joker's tenor cut through the mental gymnastics Shepard found himself accomplishing. _"We're about fifty thousand klicks out, do you want us to … FLOATING MOTHER OF—"_

A resounding boom made the _Normandy_ shudder. Shepard maintained his seat, synthesized whetstone poised over the _ulfbehrt's_ edge. "I hope there's a good explanation for that, Joker."

Bursts of static responded. _"We hit something – nothing on the charts. Sensors didn't pick up anything! Like it's invisible …?"_

Shepard raised an eyebrow; it meant nothing with no one in his room to see it, but some niceties needed to be observed. "Like us?"

A different voice came into play _. "Navigation here, boosting sensors. Got a blip on LADAR, mark two-two-zero by thirty degrees. Unpowered, looks like debris. Ballistic course for the Relay."_

A sigh fought its way up. "Get a lock, send an alert. Who's on debris watch?"

 _"Correction: object altering course."_ Pressley's voice sharpened. _"Proceeding mark two-seven-two by zero point five. Decelerating."_

Interest poked at Shepard. "Lay in pursuit. Salvage if possible, we have an appointment to keep."

 _"Aye sir."_

A few minutes later, the blade once more glittered with the thick, keen edge its densified material provided. Striking metal objects – like geth – pitted the cutting edge. Only careful work could repair its pristine sharpness. Machines could do it in less time, and possibly as well as his manual ministration, but it felt like cheating.

 _"Got it Commander. Looks like some kind of satellite. Engineering sent a few techs to get it."_ Joker's voice cut out before resuming once more. _"Changing course for the Citadel. E-tee-ay fifteen minutes. Dropping stealth in five."_

The blade hove into place with a quiet, satisfying ring. The minimal hilt clicked against the scabbard's lock, even as the scabbard itself locked against his thigh. His armor, transferred to his room from the armory at his request, came together around the rest of his combat-undersuit in record time.

 _"Commander, Alliance Control is on the line."_ Amusement colored Joker's tone; the man seemed to live on making others uncomfortable. _"They're a bit upset. Something about an unscheduled approach?"_

Teeth showed themselves in a vicious smirk. "Good. Put me on. Let the entire ship hear it."

 _"Yessir,"_ A moment of silence followed, then he could hear Joker's voice boom throughout the entire ship. _"Now hear this. Repeat: now hear this."_

Shepard straightened himself, loosely holding the gauntlets in one hand. A visual display impressed better, but audio would suffice.

 _"Please put Commander Shepard on the line."_ A cold, efficient voice made its presence known.

Shepard straightened out of habit. "Shepard here. Apologies for the confusion. I am requesting immediate berth in Docking Bay four-two-two, under Emergency Regulation Epsilon–Foxtrot-Charlie. Please acknowledge."

Something shifted in the controller's voice. _"Emergency Epsilon-foxtrot-charlie acknowledged. Please give your authorization code."_

He rattled off the required data, smirking the entire time where no one could see. "I am requesting clearance for three fire teams, accompanying my investigators. C-Sec will likely wish to accompany these teams; I approve their additions in advance."

 _"Acknowledged Commander, one moment_." The voice changed timbre slightly. Static in the background faded, returning seconds later. _"Clearance granted for Docking bay four-two-two. Citadel-Security has been notified and will send representatives to meet you. Also: Lieutenant Alenko wishes to meet with you as soon as possible."_

Shepard's eyebrows shot towards his hairline. "He is on the station?"

 _"He is currently in the brig."_

A moment of silence punctuated the statement before Shepard growled. "I want transportation ready when I arrive. See to it."

 _"Acknowledged. Docking ETA seven minutes. Control out."_

Silence filled the communication for a beat. Then Joker filled the silence _. "Huh, guess Kaiden parties harder than I thought."_

The ship itself rang under the force of silence. Shepard took advantage of it. "Alpha, Bravo, Delta squads, you have your assignments. Let nothing stop you. Shoot straight, stay safe. Shepard out."

His gauntlets clicked into position. Micro-filament extended just above the back of one hand, matching blade hidden above the other. _Time to get to work_.

* * *

Three teams stood at Shepard's back, armor gleaming, weapons swinging on bold display. Against common policy, they were even activated, demonstrating what he hoped would be assumed to be Alliance military arrogance. At the center of each team waited noncombat personnel in full body armor. Unlike their guardians, their primary weaponry consisted of the physical computers humanity preferred to the Council races ubiquitous omni-tool. Yet another difference between Council and Alliance tendencies.

Shepard nodded approval. The tiny wrist bands were incredibly capable, given their limited size. But there was no comparison to a true powerhouse machine, not for a serious investigation.

"Shepard," a basso rumble resonated behind his shoulder. "I got a little business that needs taking care of."

"Good," Shepard kept his eyes forwards, waiting for the decontamination cycle to finish. The berth granted to the _Normandy_ had a much larger passageway arranged, specifically for maneuvers such as this. "You have everything you need?"

The sound of rustling armor, the krogan's broad shoulders flexing plates, reached Shepard seconds before the voice. "Yah. My _employer_ wants it done a certain way. I'll handle it."

A grin fought its way onto Shepard's face, open for anyone to see. "I'm sure you will do your usual excellent work. Hope he is pleased."

Chuckling rumbled the very deck plates beneath his boots, but the krogan mercifully fell silent. _Krogan subtlety, that'll give the STG an aneurism._

The twin doors slid open, releasing the mild cleaning solution mist into the already hyper-clean environment of the Citadel. Thousands and millions of ships kept the same practice, particularly after a certain asari vessel accidentally transferred a unique bacteria between unexplored garden worlds. The cleanup following that particular mess had nearly bankrupted one of the major family lines, boosting environmental awareness for the rest.

Dry, sterile air wafted past Shepard's nose. He took a ninety-degree turn, taking the body language of a confident turian; shoulders lowered, stride rangy yet balanced. Humans couldn't adapt the alien physiology, but aliens seemed to subconsciously respond at just the effort.

Or he was just invoking a placebo effect. Either way, it worked.

A familiar figure waited at the entrance. Shepard didn't break pace, waving for him to join the group. "Detective Chellick, thank you for joining us. Your specialists are prepared?"

The turian's side-plates bulged slightly, angling his mandibles inward. "They are en route. If you could wait ten minutes, the last should be here."

Shepard calculated potential data loss, political responses, and the dozens of hazards fluctuating at the delay. Eventually, he gave a brief nod. "Ten minutes then; but there's a reason I arrived under stealth. Saren has spies everywhere."

Something stiffened in the turian's form. "Saren? Here?"

He gave a responding body-shrug, leaning forward a few degrees while ducking his head a few millimeters. High turian society judged meaning by differences in degrees and millimeters; here, it indicated amicable agreement between equals. "Saren has resources developed over a period of decades. I suspect he inherited some from his mentor. Right now I'm shutting down his finances, if they don't destroy records."

Chellick came to attention. "A point. I'll relay destinations instead then. Where are you headed?"

Shepard wordlessly gestured, a command immediately followed by his men. "I sent one of my squads on a high-security mission; for some reason he was picked up by C-Sec. Would you mind accompanying me?

[break]

The entire trip, Shepard quietly worried. Unlike previous efforts where he could carefully plan out lists of personnel, Alliance HQ on the Citadel had a constantly rotating roster. _Done it before, no questions then, maybe a sixty percent chance of a similar result? But Intelligence is here now, and a Mindoir survivor around here somewhere; maybe facial recognition software?_

Doubtful, he located the program, and tested it. Turians gave a nearly ninety percent success rate, and krogan appeared to have a ninety-nine percent identification average. Human field conditions though, despite every enhancement algorithm Shepard could add, held steady at forty-five percent. _Bravo squad held only twelve members, but mis-identifying just one in front of so many eyes spelled trouble._

"Here they are, sir." The one Officer Hyle, eager to please but somewhat arrogant, showed him in to a long hallway, blank metal walls facing each other. "Cell block D-9 Alpha Five. Will you be taking them back with you?"

"Of course," Shepard raised an eyebrow at the man. "All of their belongings as well. This is a highly irregular detainment you know."

The man shrugged, a gesture simultaneously denying culpability while asserting knowledge. "They got here a few days ago, wouldn't explain their actions. Good thing you came when you did, the – never mind. They can tell you themselves. Thank you sir, have a good day."

Shepard stepped into the open door, and blinked as his visor flickered to life. _Didn't I turn off the program?_

One of the smeary-faced figures stepped forwards and saluted. "Sir, good to see you."

To Shepard's surprise, a name scrolled into place over the soldier, one letter at a time. "Lieutenant Jørgensen. Good to see you. Is everyone fit to fight?"

The small woman straightened. "Fit to fight sir. Just need to collect our gear and we'll be ready to roll."

Shepard let his eyes wander along the row of Bravo squad. Every member stood at attention, bringing back memories of boot camp. As his gaze traveled, more names popped into existence, hovering over their respective designation. "Where is Lieutenant Alenko?"

Jørgensen winced. "Solitary, sir. He wouldn't let go of that package, until they took it from him by force."

Fury blew through Shepard's mind in an instant, cooling just as quickly. "I see. Thank you Lieutenant. Take Bravo squad back to the _Normandy_ , and check your pieces. We have an operation underway; use your backup armor, not what you brought in." He paused, noticing for the first time a number of bruises on multiple faces. "I take it there was a struggle?"

A light chuckle escaped the woman's stiff demeanor, swallowed back almost before it began. "When the Lieutenant was being forced away, we kind of … helped out. A little."

"A little." Shepard sighed. "Damages?"

"Three broken arms, bruises, a few twisted legs, Timmy there lost a tooth." Jørgensen rattled off. "It'll be in the report sir."

Shepard lifted his head a little, staring at the lieutenant. "Good, but I had meant _them_. My squads are tough, what kind of damage did you deal out?"

White teeth flashed. "We kicked the mother-loving sh- um, we fought with honor and pride, sir."

"As well you should," Shepard let a growl enter his voice. "I'll be looking forward to the report. Double time it to Bay four-two-two. We're taking the fight to Saren."

Jørgensen saluted again, a relieved bent to her posture. The group exited in columns of two as if leaving a vacation home. Shepard had to hide a smile; however one looked at it, the squads on his ship certainly held a certain confidence. Whether he'd have to punish them for it or not would have to be determined later.

As he walked out, he found the officer approaching, leading a somewhat bedraggled Kaiden Alenko. "Very good. And all of his effects are now free?"

The officer shook his head. "Lieutenant Alenko was found carrying a Class Ten biohazard container. Until it has been verified, it will remain in Quarantine."

Shepard stepped forwards, looming over the other man. "Consider that countermanded. I am authorizing its immediate release. If it is not in my hands within ten minutes, the consequences could involve small-arms fire. Am I understood?"

"Sir," the officer protested. "Under Health and Safety regulation Chapter three, paragraph –"

It felt good; too good Shepard realized. Perhaps he had been spending too much time with Garrus? "And I am authorized by the Systems Alliance Command to countermand that regulation, as well as your future postings. Now get me that container, or I will personally ensure you are posted on Outer Colony Hazard Patrol for the rest of your career."

Perhaps it was the way he _hadn't_ shouted that made the man's eyes bulge. "Sir-yessir!"

"Good." Shepard motioned for his entourage to follow. Waiting until the officer had fled, he gave Williams a grateful nod, but said nothing. A faint smile, visible beneath her helmet's faceplate told him everything he needed to know.

Sometimes, it was good to have friends looking out for him.

Chellick, whom had stayed respectfully silent, gave him a curious look.

He obliged. "I sent a squad after a valuable payload. They were to meet me some time ago; no one forwarded their location to me; I suspect Saren's involvement."

The turian flexed his frontal cranial plate in disbelief. "You think Saren is looking to give your people trouble. He could have ordered a hit on them much more easily than a simple jail sentence."

"True," Shepard made the turn, heading for the prison block's front desk. "But this way he gets me out of the way for a little while, and I'm more of the opinion that it was some operative of his with little communication that did it. Anything to delay, vex or distract me is in Saren's best interest."

They'd just reached the desk when pounding feet resonated through the corridor. Officer Hyle clutched an opaque cylinder in both hands, two security guards running to keep up. Skidding to a stop, he held it out to Shepard. "Here it is, sir. I have to warn you, a full report will be made about the situation."

"Good." Shepard seized the canister with one hand, running a quick diagnostic. Its security had been designed with salarians in mind, redundant failsafes upon failsafes at every weak point. He wasn't terribly worried however. "I trust there have been no attempts to illegally obtain entry to my property? There is a registered C-class thermobaric warhead inside."

Garrus, standing unobtrusively to one side made a light whistling sound. "And here I thought I'd seen all the colors you humans can be. That's … almost green? Can you do that?"

"The seal is still intact, which explains why everyone here is still alive," Shepard nodded to biotic soldier. "Good to see you Alenko. Fit to fight?"

Kaiden stretched, rolling his shoulders. "A little stiff, but some coffee and a few dozen doughnuts will set me right."

Shepard gave a withering glare at Officer Hyle. "Consider treatment of a biotic to be added to my report." He switched his attention back. "Kaiden, I'm doing an operation right now. If you want doughnuts, the _Normandy_ is in Bay four—"

 _"Commander Shepard, is Commander Shepard available?"_ a distinctly French accented voice whined from the front desk main speaker.

Giving an exasperated sigh, Shepard moved to the desk. "That's me. What is it?"

The desk sergeant flipped his omni-tool over. "Sir. Sergeant Elysee. I just received word that a civilian armed with a pistol just entered your docking bay ramp. She is unarmored, but under the circumstances we do not wish to cause … problems."

More distractions. Shepard felt weariness like he'd rarely felt before. In response, he looked at the desk sergeant.

"We were hoping that you could, ah, resolve the situation? Her records seem to be of questionable origin. An old Mindoir colony eye-dee if you'd believe it," she started to chuckle. "Someone went through much trouble to create a false identity. No one survived that –" her movement froze. "Pardon sir. I meant no offense."

The tired feeling Shepard had been fighting vanished. "What was her name?"

"Ah, Lieutenant Girard says she calls herself Talitha. Since it is your docking bay, very high classification, you were needed to be notified. But we will take care of it, do not worry."

Shepard didn't move. _Her? Did she survive? All these years, never found her. Probably not the same Talitha, pretty common name back then. Like Sven is now, or Mark. And I'm babbling. Concentrate. Think Shepard, what if it is?_

"Commander?" A quiet voice brought him out of his thoughts.

Shepard squared his shoulders. "Tell your men to stand down. I'll take care of it myself. Clear a route from here to Bay four-twenty-two. I'll be moving as fast as I can."

The desk sergeant's jaw dropped; even Shepard could see that. "But … the lines? There are hundreds of people, dozens of levels. We cannot—"

"Go, Shepard," a new voice, familiar but unexpected, broke in.

He spun facing Captain Anderson. The older man looked far older than he'd seemed even a month earlier. Black hair had gone to a grizzled salt-and-pepper, with more salt than pepper, strong shoulders looked stopped. Dark brown eyes – some of the few Shepard could still see – looked back at his own. "Go, son. I'll handle traffic. She needs you."

For once, Shepard found himself unable to speak. A subtle hum emanated from his armor, the Nightstalker hardware powering into attention. In a blur, he was gone.

* * *

 _Landing bay should be roughly thirty levels core-ward of the C-Sec headquarters._ Shepard felt his mass shift as the armor decreased its interaction with standard physics. _Six air passages, three stairs. Elevators have no emergency exit, stupid Protheans._

Micro-Warps formed at his fingertips, lasting just long enough to ensure a firm grasp on an overhang. Shepard used the added friction to launch himself upward, over the protective railing. The Nightstalker shifted modes, enhancing the force his feet put on the ground. Everywhere, Shepard could see heads turning, a few surprised cries. Turians across the floor were reacting faster than even the asari, a gift from their energy-sensitive biology.

Shepard pushed himself faster, triggering the suit to lower his mass once more in a leap over a group of slow-moving elcor. _Got to move, can't let her get away, not again. Faster!_

He found a ledge unexpectedly occupied by a Keeper. It rocketed away from an instinctive Throw, smearing across a dozen meters of dull-gray Prothean-base bulwarks. _Oops. What is it, a five hundred thousand fine? Damn Council and their 'don't touch' rules._

The thought had hovered over the years, examining the insectoid minions of the Protheans. Unfortunately, Council law and a lack of resources prevented such a possibility. Defeating Saren and his Reaper took priority.

Inside of ten minutes he'd bypassed more territory than the taxi system could handle in a similar timeframe. His presence caught the sentries off guard; something he'd have to bring up with their superiors. Ignoring that for the moment, Shepard found a man that looked as if he were in charge. "Sergeant Girard, where is he?"

The man swallowed hard, reminding Shepard to power down his Nightstalker armor. Glowing blue tended to put people off balance. "Yes sir; that would be me. You are Commander Shepard of course?"

Shepard transmitted his confirmation codes, including the more obscure authority permissions.

"Ah. Good. Thank you for coming," the man glanced nervously at a pile of shipping crates halfway up the pier. Movement, stationed behind the largest container flickered in the wind.

"Wish it were under better circumstances," Shepard followed his gaze. "Is that her?"

"Oui. I have a sniper positioned, but it is not necessary I think. She is only a danger to herself." Girard's eyes flicked around the station, nervousness evident. "We have a sedative prepared, but we cannot get close to her. Every step we take makes her more nervous."

Shepard nodded, taking the needle. "Makes sense. Do you have an oral version as well?"

Comprehension dawned on the Lieutenant's face, he began patting down his pockets. "Yes; you think you will be able to calm her down enough? Don't push her too hard. If she seems liable to shoot herself, back off. Or walk away. I am willing to wait her out …."

Shepard didn't answer. _Can't tell. If it's really Talitha, the Talitha, I should be able to. If not …_ he checked the secondary launcher on his rifle. _That will have to do._

"Good luck sir."

The stretch of deck plating between the crate pile and Shepard seemed only a few dozen meters. But it felt further, lightyears or temporal marks given corporeal form. _What if it's her? What then? Keep it together Shepard, there's no possible way, you checked every sales listing in the Coreward Hegemony._

 _Yes, but what about that slaver that got away?_ He found his thoughts running in circles, folding back on ancient tracks. _Sure he died, but that was months later. Plenty of time to offload fresh slaves. Children slaves._

His steps slowed, approaching the crate. Time felt static; every detail visible as if acid-etched on his brain. Talitha had been less than ten, when It happened. _That would make her twenty? Twenty one? Stray thoughts accidently broke through barriers. Lily was so proud of her. Why couldn't you protect just one child? She had no right to do that though – focus. Focus._

Moving at glacial speed, Shepard inched beyond the furthest edge. A young woman, dirty of face and wearing clothing that should have been destroyed years before, crouched away from him, a tiny pistol aimed squarely at his chest. The first thing that caught Shepard's attention was the sidearm, a Raikou Mark IV. Red streaks along the barrel indicated scram rail attachments, extra cooling vents just above the grip. A flashy weapon, designed to impress and little else.

The second thing was her face. Gaunt, bruised, and bearing scars, but it was her face. _Green eyes, high cheekbones. Three freckles, right next to her nose … she still has that scar next to her ear._ Haunted eyes peered out at him from high cheekbones, so like her sister's, terror building.

Something warned her about his presence, an animal-like instinct all too common amongst former slaves. "Sto – stop! What do you … what are you …?"

"Talitha?" Shepard stopped moving. "Is that you, Squirt?"

The gun wavered, "Who … who are you? You're one of them! She'll shoot you! Make them stop! Make them go away!"

Shepard lowered his body to one knee, keeping his hands visible, blatantly far from his weapons. "Talitha, it's me. Remember? Karl?"

Tremors shook the emaciated body. "Karl? No. No no no no. Karl left her. He said he'd protect her. Then he ran. She shouted, but he ran. Then they came – animals don't have names. The masters put their symbols on her. Hot metal all over her back. She screams when they do it."

A heavy feeling, as heavy as the Citadel settled on Shepard's shoulders. "You're not an animal, Talitha. Your parents gave you that name, a good name. Your sister loves your name. She loves you."

"Sister?" a strange light flickered in Talitha's eyes. "Where's Lily? She wants Lily."

 _Ah. Knew that was coming_. Shepard looked up to see three familiar figures, two human one turian, come into view. Ashamed at feeling relief, he beckoned at the fully-armored female member of the group. A quick hand signal deterred the other two from approaching, safely out of hearing range. Given the rapidity of the _Normandy's_ docking, unexpected location, and constant monitoring, he felt it unlikely that anyone had arranged for aural surveillance. Nothing his scans hadn't already detected and neutralized, to be precise. He shook off the thoughts, returning his gaze to Talitha.

"I need to give this to one of my people," Shepard said, and detached the heavy cylinder. "Her name is Ashley Williams. She needs to take this to my locker. Okay?"

The pistol darted at his chest, then pointed slightly lower, the terrified look back in her eyes. "Don't leave her again!"

"I won't," he soothed. "I will stay right here where you can see me. Is that okay?"

A half-sniffle accompanied the pistol's downward movement. Shepard took it as a positive sign, and took another backward step. "Williams."

The gunnery chief came to a stop, standing at parade rest. He couldn't read her face, but the tension in her shoulders told him everything. "Shepard."

Carefully, he held out the cylinder. "This goes in my locker. While you're there, can you pick up that souvenir I found on Eden Prime? Top shelf. Soft and fuzzy."

The shoulders froze. "Oh. All right?"

"Thank you," he said firmly. After a moment, the soldier walked away, clutching the device in one hand.

Shepard turned back to Talitha. The girl from his memories still peeked out from a woman's face. "Talitha, I'm going to come a little closer. All right?"

The woman shrank back, but didn't raise the weapon. "She … she can't get too close. Or they'll hurt her, with the Burnings. Or the Hitting. She doesn't want to remember, leave her alone!"

One foot reached a little closer to her, one step closer. "Do you want to go home, Talitha? Your sister misses you."

"Shh, shh!" Talitha clutched at her face, digging nails into the skin. "Daddy … he's melting! The masters had bright lights and hoses. Don't make her look. Don't look! Stupid. Stupid!"

The epithet he'd used so often on himself brought Shepard pause. More slowly, he took another step. "I know, Talitha. He saved me. He told me to find you. I've been looking, Talitha. Ever since you were taken, I've been looking for you."

"Liar!" Both hands fell away, holding the pistol on Shepard in rock-steady hands. "You get hit for lying. Get the buzz or the burning. Can't be there! You left her!"

Shepard clicked the visor away from his face, taking away the only shield between them. It seemed to strengthen the woman's resolve.

"Why are you alive? Why are you – why aren't you like her? Broken. Only fit to dig and carry." Anger, tinged with madness, filled her entire body. The weapon dropped to one side, pointing at the floor.

Shepard reached back, and caressed the gun of his father, drawing comfort from touching the artifact. At the same time, his omni-tool buzzed a confirmation: no bugs in the area. The sniper couldn't see his face, and long-distance audio devices were blocked by the countermeasures inherent in his loadout. "I _am_ broken, Talitha. It broke me, too. I had to keep going, keep fighting. To find them; _to find you_."

For a moment, he poised on full disclosure; the cold executions he'd carried out, what he'd planned to do after succeeding. The key to that plan lay in his locker now, ready to deploy when he deemed the time right. A whole man couldn't consider what he planned to do; not think of it and remain whole. 'High-functioning sociopath' described him fairly well … but such people couldn't make long-term plans. He was not one of them. Broken, but not insane.

Finally, Shepard saw it. A deep longing in her eyes. "You … you really were looking? For her?"

He took a final step, and lowered himself to one knee. "Yes. And now I found you. Please, let me help you."

An almost dreamy smile came to her face. "The man said you wouldn't do it, you wouldn't help her."

Every sense went on alert, but he managed to keep it from his face. "I'll take you home. Will you take this? It will help you sleep."

Slowly, the gun fell to the deck plate. Talitha didn't notice his boot cover the barrel, kicking it back out of reach. Her small hand, hardened by labors Shepard didn't want to imagine, plucked the small pill from his hand. She looked up, swallowing hard. "Will – will you sing to her? Like you used to?"

In answer, Shepard sat down, putting his back to the crates. Talitha, cautiously sat on his lap, the way she'd once done many years before. "It's been a while, but I think I can. For you."

Footsteps on the dock plating clicked softly into view. It wasn't until Shepard found himself looking at the shocked stance of Williams that he realized tears were in full evidence on his face. He reached upwards and took the teddy bear from her loose grip. "Ah. Thank you Ash."

The soldier crouched a little. "So, this is Talitha? Your friend?"

Shepard felt Talitha clutch at his arm, terrified. "Yes she is. Talitha, this is Ashley Williams, one of my best soldiers. She's here to help protect you."

"Yes I am," Williams agreed. "But could you help me? I found this bear, he lost his owner, and needs a friend. Can you help him?"

Talitha's fingers closed around the teddy bear's soft form, stroking the fuzzy exterior as if it were made of nano-particulate diamond. "He … he needs me?"

"That's right," Shepard lowered his voice, keeping it a comforting rumble. "He's been alone for too long. Can you take care of him? He needs a friend."

The teddy bear was nearly crushed by her arms in a massive hug. "Okay. Sing now?"

Shepard gently tucked his arm around Talitha. She was no six-year old, but somehow, that didn't seem to matter. William's retreating footsteps barely registered. "An old one, good times. Do you remember this one?"

He took a deep breath, letting it go. " _Stille nacht, heil'ge nacht."_

The arms clutching so hard, relaxed, just a little. _"Alles schlaft, einsam wacht."_

On he sang, voice cracking from misuse. Shouting commands on the battlefield gave lung capacity, but did little for fine pitch control. But it seemed to do its job, calming the ex-slave sitting on his lap. Within three verses, Talitha fell asleep.

Keeping his movements slow, Shepard rose. Rounding the crates, he saw Williams waiting for him, Garrus standing further back, pointedly between a group of humans and himself. Nodding thanks, Shepard made a sharp turn, walking up the ramp to the _Normandy_ , ignoring the hasty calls for attention.

"Vakarian," he kept his voice quiet, but let it carry. "No one boards the _Normandy_ until I say so. Ashley, with me."

Carrying the girl in his arms, he knew he should be enraged. The focal point for so much pain now lay in his grasp, the relief should have been overwhelming. Anger at the slavers, plans for retribution, all of it should have rolled like a tidal wave. But nothing like that mattered for now; it could wait for another time.

For a brief moment, Shepard would enjoy having family again. At least for one night.

* * *

(1) Star Wars reference, which should exist!

 **AN:** Merry Christmas! Tried to have this done before then, but classes and lab work has kept me busy, even in Break time. Adulting is not exactly overrated, but leaves me less time than I wished.

The Talitha reveal is something I've been building up ever since the beginning, back in Chapter 1. Perhaps I hid it too well, did anyone see it coming? PM or Review; I'd love to see what you think!

This chapter is dedicated to a friend that is (as of this publishing) in the hospital. Surgery is supposed to go well, but it's been a long row to hoe for him. Extra big shoutout to Nightstride the Beta Master; if betas (the fish) where ever faced with Nightstride (the beta), I'm sure they would swim as fast as possible in the opposite direction, in fear of the superior Beta.

Story recommendation: PSI Effect by Cap'n Chryssalid (Story ID: 10550829). Excellent story, and back alive!

Merry Christmas to you all, and Happy New Year!


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